Legacy of Steel
by Dreamuero
Summary: Family has always been the most important thing in Annabeth's life. How will that change when a mysterious Duke, Percy Jackson, is betrothed to her older sister. Royalty AU.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Her whole life, Annabeth had observed change. She had watched as villages were pillaged, scrutinized as armies tore each other apart, stood as men fell to the ground around her, stepping away as to not dirty her shoes. She had beheld as political tides shifted and surveyed as nobles fell in and out of favor, their heads occasionally falling into baskets.

Despite it all, however, Annabeth's family remained a constant. Her father strong. Her mother intelligent. Her sister kind. And she forever observant. She likened them to the eye a hurricane—a massive storm surrounding them at all times, yet an eerie, peaceful calm enveloping them, following them at every turn. So Annabeth, from her tall tower, seemingly above it all, had examined the lands, her eyes tracing lazy lines, following the predetermined sequences of the common man.

Though change surrounded her, Annabeth found herself stagnant—not that she desired it any other way. She simply wondered, sometimes, what it would feel like to experience change first hand.

Perhaps it was this treacherous thought that prompted her to consider Percy Jackson's arrival a blessing rather than a curse, an opportunity to discover, to _experience_. If only she'd known the chaos that would accompany the young Duke's arrival, she might have reacted with more hesitance at the news of April 14th and regarded the resultant decision with suspicion rather than hope.

...

"Would you care to take a turn around grounds?" Annabeth asked her sister that fateful morning, the morning everything changed. It was half past noon, and the sun was towering over the castle.

Rachel set down her pencil and glanced up from her drawing, noting that her sister had shut the book she had previously been in such rapture with. "I suppose—"

The princess found her assertion suddenly interrupted by the sound of her sitting room's doors swinging open. The clatter of mahogany started both the girls, directing their gazes towards the intruder: their most trusted guard.

"Your Highnesses," he greeted amongst pants. They both rose, examining his dark and troubled demeanor with wide eyes. "There has been an assassination—"

Annabeth felt her body cease even its most minuscule movements, felt her blood run still in her veins and her heart halt its rhythm.

"William—" the guard revealed through strangled breaths, "Dohlov was poisoned only a few hours ago. Your Royal Majesties require both your presences at once."

Annabeth felt a warm relief seep into her skin, allowing her to breath—though it was still shallow, nonetheless. She watched the guard's concerned gaze linger on her sister and felt a secondary blow at the realization that Rachel would be devasted by the news.

"Take us to them," Annabeth demanded, feeling her body lurch into action at her own words. She glanced at her sister, taking her by the hand and observing the lost look in her eyes and the slow, cold murmur of her lips. "At once!" Annabeth commanded at the guard's seeming hesitance.

He did not waste a second longer, spinning on his heel and leading them out the doors, wordlessly summoning an armed escort.

"Rachel," Annabeth whispered as she practically dragged her sister behind her. "Rachel!"

"William—" the girl muttered hopelessly. "How—"

"I know," Annabeth swallowed thickly, then— _"I know"_ —softer this time.

"He was—" Rachel continued, her feet nearly tripping over one another. "I—"

She seemed unable to finish a thought, and Annabeth found herself in a similar—though slightly more functional—position.

"He was almost family—" Annabeth spoke, perhaps more for her own benefit than her sister's. " _Almost_ , though—not family—not yet—you're— _you_ —I need _you_. We need to go—We need to—to get to safety. We have to protect—family."

Family.

It had always seemed the most powerful force in Annabeth's mind. Though friends and lovers would betray you, family would not. Family may quarrel, may disagree, but when it is all stripped and bare, only blood will remain.

 _Trust only each other_ , their mother had once uttered to the girls as they watched the stars, her voice low and solemn. _All others will deceive and betray you_ — _but blood will forever remain true._

Annabeth had heard of a son murdering his own brother before massacring his father only a few kingdoms away. She could not believe it—or perhaps she chose not to. For, to Annabeth, nothing—not fame, nor fortune, nor felicity—would rival family in her eyes.

 _Your job,_ their mother had articulated to Rachel that same night, _will be to rule_.

Her sister was scarcely eight years old when the responsibilities began to weigh on her, when the soft whispers of her mother became too much.

 _Yours_ , their mother had turned to address Annabeth, her eyes glossy, _will be to protect_ — _protect your family at all costs._

Annabeth was a month from seven, but the words deep sunk into her, the principle intertwining itself in her DNA until the two were indistinguishable.

It was the reason that, at just 17 years of age—after dragging her old sister through the castle's twisting hallways behind her—the slamming of the doors of her father's study, the dismissive gaze of her mother, the quiet _thanks_ of Rachel as they pulled her through the crack in the door, left her hoping for change.

As she paced rapidly outside the room of Congress, where ideas and strategies she was not privy to were being explored, she wondered if the death of her sister's betrothed could not carry a silver lining—if it might bring her the change she had long been craving.

* * *

a/n: okay, so I know this is short, and I know I said I wouldn't post until I was done w my extreme writing project, but I'm like 20% done and feeling good. Also, I wanted to give y'all a little teaser of what was the come bc I'm really excited about this story. And also, this isn't even a real chapter. It's a _prologue_.

So, onto the nitty-gritty details. The story has changed a bit from what was described on the poll, but other than that it's the same. It's a royalty AU set in like the 1600's-ish, but expect a plethora of historical inaccuracies. Also, don't expect the characters to speak with 16-century language bc that's definitely not happening. The story will be pretty slow burny bc that kind of comes with the time period. Also, the characters are definitely slightly OOC, but what can I do.

The story will be told in 3rd person limited, from Annabeth's pov. But you know me, I fuck up and use other people's perspectives sometimes. Anyway, there will be diary entries at the beginning of some chapters (not if the chapters are a continuation of the same day as the prior) that will be in Percy's pov. Also, if anyone knows Percy's middle name. That would be very much appreciated information.

Okay, so story stuff now. You should be able to figure out most of the background throughout the story, and some things are left purposefully vague bc, well, suspense. But here are the basics: Rachel and Annabeth are sisters (Annabeth is younger) and princesses of a Kingdom w no male heirs, so Rachel is in line for the throne. As was the norm at the time, they were both betrothed as children. I think that's all so if y'all get confused by something, lmk and I'll explain it better.

Ciao until my extreme writing mission is _really_ over.

p.s. Like my other stories, I'm trying to average chapters around 3000 words, but we all know I'm unreliable as fuq.

p.p.s. Very much appreciated all the reviews on my last chapter of FB :))) Thank you all for forgiving my long absence and being so kind and supportive.

p.p.p.s. The _prologue_ is dedicated to _Fangirl Shrieks_ bc that review was soo nice gurl, sending many gracias ur way


	2. Chapter 1

_April 17th, 1649_

 _They've done it._

 _I've done it._

 _We've done it._

 _After planning the assassination and subsequent discussions for so long, it's difficult to believe it has finally become a reality. Now the responsibility lies with me to follow through with our designs. I know what I must do. I do not doubt I will accomplish my task. My intel tells me, the princess, though already of age, is rather naive. Luckily, however, I have also heard she's somewhat beautiful. Perhaps my mission will be a pleasure rather than a chore._

 _It all depends upon me now. Nothing shall stop me._

 _P.J._

...

"What do you think they're discussing?" Annabeth asked, her gaze trained on the locked doors before her. Her eyes traced the swaying lines of the wood that she had memorized over the years.

"You need not worry so much," Luke assured her, holding her hand in his. He slowly stroked a line down each of her digits in an attempt to relax her.

"They've been in there for days," she expounded, pulling her hand from his grasp to curl her fingers around her mouth. "Only exiting to sleep. They've even had their meals brought to them—the answer is logical, is it not?"

"Mh," he sounded, more an acknowledgment than an answer.

"You should be next in line," she continued despite him. "There are no other high ranking royals or nobles who are not already spoken for—unless someone else has made them an offer already."

"Annabeth," Luke sighed and met her gaze, "I leave tonight for Andalucia."

"So you do," Annabeth confirmed, forcing herself to maintain eye contact and not be distracted once again by the clandestine conversations occurring behind closed doors only a few feet away.

"I will not return for nearly a year," Luke reminded her. "Is this really how you wish to spend our final hours together? Spying on your parents and your sister."

"Well—" Annabeth began to reason only to be cut off.

"Do you not think them capable of handling the matter on their own?" he asked, clearly exasperated. "Your sister will be queen for god sake. How will she ever successfully govern a country if you are questioning her at every turn?"

"I suppose you are correct," Annabeth agreed begrudgingly. "But the activity does inspire a strange kind of nostalgia, does it not?" she added, smirking.

"Yes," Luke nodded, a small smile finally gracing his lips. "I vividly remember ease dropping on dozens of meaningless meetings. We were only children. We hadn't the slightest idea what they were speaking of, only that it was meant to remain secret."

"What shall we do then?" Annabeth questioned kindly, feeling slightly guilty at his dutiful attention. "With our final hours together."

"A walk, perhaps?" he suggested, then frowned. "But I suppose this isn't the best time to be outdoors, what with the possibility of an assassination attempt."

"A turn about the castle then?" Annabeth countered. "Shall we finish in the library? There is a new selection, I am simply dying to read."

"Of course," Luke bowed his head, hiding a tired expression—not well enough, it seemed, however. The blonde noticed it with a sigh and a swift roll of her eyes but took no further steps to alleviate it. Why should she, after all? He was—well, he was Luke. He was a friend, her betrothed but nothing more. He was business. _Family_ business.

...

In the end, it was decided that Luke Castellon, Duke of Andalucia, would not marry Rachel Chase. Instead, there would be a new addition to the royal family: Percy Jackson, Duke of Atlantis.

It was in Annabeth's nature to be skeptical, but she found herself unreasonably hopeful at the news. Following the announcement, she regularly consulted the library, researching the Jackson's and their lands. She quickly realized the marriage would be a more advantageous connection for the throne than a marriage with Luke would have been. By forming a bond with the Jackson's and thus with Atlantis, their kingdom would gain more efficient trade routes and the safety of their shipments would be ensured. Luke, though valuable, would have only provided the family with farmlands.

Yes, Percy Jackson was certainly a better choice—that was, supposing the engagement went as planned. Becuase, though Percy Jackson offered enticing business connections, her family's complete lack of familiarity with him was cause for concern. It meant his arrival carried a high level of risk. He would be entering their small kingdom with more knowledge of them than they had of him.

The idea was entirely unsettling. It had Annabeth pouring through history books, examining the regional history. There was bound to be an ulterior motive to his family's sudden interest to unite themselves with hers. She wondered why it seemed no one else was considering the consequences of this risky union. She mused, momentarily, that they might be and she simply might not know—after all, she was barred from the congresses she so desperately wanted to be a part of.

He was to arrive in only two weeks time, but when she voiced her concerns, no one seemed to listen. She was royalty. She could not comprehend why her opinion meant so little. She was second in line for the throne. Her words should have been analyzed for weeks, examined for deeper meaning, inscribed in stone. Yet it seemed when she spoke, all others turned away from her. She heard whispers of _insolent child_ and _headstrong female_ , but she continued to tear through ancient texts, certain she would find something of meaning.

In the meantime, she spoke to the only one who had ever really listened.

...

"Haven't you considered the possibilities?" Annabeth inquired one late night, hidden under the cover in her sister's bed. A dim lantern lit up the surrounding area, highlighting the freckles adorning the bridge of Rachel's nose.

"Yes," Rachel sighed. "I simply choose to linger on the less... murderous ones."

"Seems dangerous," Annabeth sniffed, throwing her sister a playful grin.

"Perhaps," Rachel intoned. "But for years— _years_ —I believed I would spend my life in a loveless marriage."

"Rachel," Annabeth tried to argue. "You know—"

"Yes, yes," the redhead rolled her eyes. "There was affection between Will and me, a blossoming friendship. But—" she sighed, dragging her fingers through her hair. "But remember those books we used to read as children."

Annabeth offered her a puzzled look.

"The storybooks filled with princesses and dragons and knights in shining armor." At Annabeth's look of recognition, Rachel continued, an airy elation slipping into her words. "Before two weeks ago, I scarcely allowed myself to dream I might find someone who would sweep me off my feet."

Rachel smiled—a visage of such mirth and decadence that Annabeth couldn't stomach spoiling with her ill-timed cynicism, so she kept her lips pressed into a simpering curve and listened.

"But—but maybe _now_ ," Rachel explained, "I might finally have a chance at that—at _love_. I don't need someone to slay dragons for me or fight armies, but—but—" she swallowed harshly, the lines of her neck tracing the rough movement. "I want someone who _would_." Rachel chuckled sheepishly at the sight of her sister's fabricated smile. "It's stupid, I know."

"No, no," Annabeth tried to argue. "The thought is certainly enticing—"

"But it's unrealistic," Rachel finished for her. The blonde felt a sudden rush of emotions as she watched her sister's head drop and the light drain from her eyes. "It's just," she glanced back up at Annabeth, her eyes glossy. "Sometimes," she muttered so quietly Annabeth almost lost her words in the rustling of the sheets. "Sometimes I think I'm not cut out to be queen. Sometimes the pressure is too much and—and there is so much to remember and to consider, and I don't know who to trust or confide in—it's _exhausting_. And sometimes I just want to run—run away and never come back."

"Rachel," Annabeth struggled, her own throat stiff both with sorrow and fear. "You can't mean that. You have me. You can always trust me. You—you can always trust your family."

"I know," Rachel breathed, her hand coming up to wipe a tear threatening to fall down her cheek. "I just—I want a partner who can support me, who can help shoulder the weight of my throne."

"I understand," Annabeth assured her, taking her sister in her arms and holding her tight. "But remember, you are never alone. I can help. I am always here—I _will_ always be here."

Rachel nodded but said nothing else. Annabeth held her through the night. She waited until Rachel's deep, steady breaths fell against her shoulder before she loosening her grip. In the darkness of the night, she considered her sister's words, the want of an equal, of a partner—someone to slay proverbial dragons. She hadn't lied when she'd said the thought was enticing. But she'd always considered herself her sister's partner, her equal.

Rachel had promised her the position of Royal Council when she gained the crown, had promised her a voice and a seat. She could have asked for nothing else. In return, she had protected her sister—would _always_ protect her sister. She was perfectly happy to slay dragons for Rachel. Annabeth had always considered her life perfectly complete with only their family to keep her company. To hear her sister wanted someone else hurt.

In theory, however, Annabeth had to agree. The thought of a partner, an equal counterpart, someone to study and spar with, would be an attractive sentiment to anyone. She wondered what it would be like to feel—to feel _fire_ —that was how they had described in the storybooks, was it not?—to feel fire at the sight of someone, to be engulfed in heat with only a gaze, with the brush of a stolen kiss.

No—

The thought was ridiculous—but more than ridiculous it was intoxicating—far too intoxicating for Annabeth's liking.

As soon as the dangerous ideas began to fill her head, she cast them out. She could not support that type of thinking. She could not stand to lose control. She needed to keep her mind on more important subjects, on matters of the state rather than the heart.

It was pointless thinking anyway, she was betrothed to Luke who, while at times dreadfully boring and annoying, was dependable and covert. Besides, their union would add to the reign of her family. It had been planned since their infancy. She knew nothing else—had _expected_ nothing else. She desired no nothing else—she _could_ not desire anything else.

But that was beside the point, becuase she didn't—she _didn't_.

...

Despite her serious qualms, the day Percy Jackson arrived. Annabeth was the face of cordiality and warmth. She had her ladies dress her in a blood red gown and wore her finest tiara. Her curls were half pinned up, allowing the rest to spill down her back. It wasn't too much—it was just enough.

Her family and their closest friends gathered in the throne room as the Duke's arrival was announced. Annabeth watched with careful eyes as her sister nervously took her position at the right of her father who was sitting on his throne, tapping his fingers rather impatiently in her opinion.

"What do you know?" Annabeth's mother asked suddenly, averting the blonde's attention. "About the Duke," she clarified a second later.

"Most accounts say he is beautiful and devious," Annabeth answered honestly, keeping her eyes facing forward, in case the Duke arrived abruptly.

"You worry we have made the wrong decision in bringing him here," her mother inferred, raising a brow at her daughter.

"Yes," Annabeth confirmed. "Rachel is much too fragile to receive a new fiance, and we know too little of him to accept him so soon into our family."

"I care very little for your concerns," her mother snapped suddenly. "Your sister is strong enough to handle a change as small as this. As for your latter care, do not bother yourself. Your father and I have considered the consequences of the union and have determined him to be an acceptable addition."

"Mother," Annabeth hissed. "You can't seriously expect me to accept and protect the Duke as a brother when I am still unsure of his intentions."

"You will accept him." The Queen left no room for discussion. "And will be the most doting sister. Now smile. We have guests."

Annabeth took a deep breath and painted a welcoming expression on her face. Then there was a second of unending (almost) silence. Annabeth could hear the tap of her father's fingers against his armchair, the scrape of a guard's armor shifting, the ragged gasp of her sister, an eerie calm, then—

Footsteps—graceful and confident.

Whispers—quiet and careful

Finally—"Percy Jackson, Duke of Atlantis."

And just like that, the hurricane shifted and the eye moved along, allowing temporary peace to another family, to another land—but not Annabeth's, not anymore.

* * *

a/n: k, look. I know I'm not supposed to post until I'm done and that I've already broken the rule once, but I'm getting really antsy and I'm done with ten of my LoS chapters and only need to work on my remaining stories. Also I'm about to leave for college so I'm mad packing, and I just want to get at least one chapter out before I go. So I'm very sorry that I'm being this way, but here's another chapter bc I can't stand to just look at all these words in my doc manager. It's giving me anxiety.

Anyway, this is short anyway. So there's definitely more to come.

Reminder: Percy's perspective in the journal entry

p.s. dedicated to _Sinful-logic_ , _IAmHelenOfTroy_ , and _Fangirl Shrieks_ bc y'all trusted me and just hopped the fuck on this new story train w me. So shout out to y'all and also all the people who have already favorited and followed. You guys are seriously too kind to be real.

p.p.s go do the poll on my profile to boost my ego por favorrrr

c u l8r

iciao!


	3. Chapter 2

_April 29th, 1649_

 _The girl is just as I expected, just as others described. She is beautiful, bouncy auburn curls and fair skin. She is naive and shy, blushing fiercely when I brushed my fingers across her knuckles. She is kind and gentle, entirely undeserving of her fate. Alas, however, it is not my decision who goes and who does not._

 _The one detail accounts of the princess seem to have overlooked is her family. I have never believed in the occult, but they have an almost supernatural energy to them. It is unlike anything I have ever faced. Though the princess and I are already engaged, the King chortles encouragingly, urging me on. The Queen acts similarly, though her niceties carry an uncharacteristic stiffness._

 _Perhaps, however, the oddest of the group is the princess's sister. Before today, I had only heard hushed accounts of her, but I heard it all—wise, ruthless, daft, kind, loyal, untrustworthy, **dangerous**_ _—ev_ _ery report seemingly a contradiction._

 _It was impossible to fully understand her character, all I was able to surmise from the information was that she wears many faces. After my interactions_ _—or lack thereof_ _—with her today, I finally understand._

 _She is an enigma in every sense of the word._

 _When I first entered the throne room, her gaze I felt the strongest. I could feel the power behind it, the blatant distrust. Had I not known Rachel had auburn hair, I would have mistaken the girl for my bride to be. Yet, despite her marked presence, she said nothing. The King and Queen introduced her hastily, no recognition henceforth. I was_ _—still am_ _—confused by how little attention was paid to her._

 _Though her simpering smile was very convincing, upon further inspection, I noted the distrust lingering behind her light irises, the flickering disdain._

 _How is it she trusts me less than the woman I am attempting to seduce? How is it she has already formed an opinion of me when I have worked so hard to keep all mentions of me at a minimum?_

 _Then at dinner, she was positively **annoying**. She speaks far too proudly for a princess who will never even be Queen. First, she sat far too close to me, then she engaged the men before her as if they were her subjects, and finally, she inserted her political and intellectual opinion into those of nobles. _

_It was positively unnerving, alarming, **unnatural** for a lady to speak of such things. _

_How does her fiance stand her? No wonder he left for Andalucia._

 _She was ease dropping on me and her sister the entire time we spoke, I am sure of it. Near the end of the banquet, I said something that might have appeared suggestive. It was a test, a **trap**. I was careful to watch her and sure enough, her body shifted, her knuckles turning white. _

_There is no question, she will be an obstacle to my campaign._

 _She is an unknown variable. She is_ ** _dangerous_. **

_And not particularly beautiful either. While her sister manages to tame her curls, it appears the blonde cannot for they spring about on their own volition. Similarly, her skin is disgustingly tanned, as though she spends her days in the fields. Her mouth is strangely small, especially considering the confidence she speaks with. Her chin is slightly too round, causing her face to appear much broader than it is. I must admit, however, there is a strange rather regal quality to her eyes, resulting in a piercing gaze._

 _But no matter, I am perfectly capable of handling an insolent female._

 _P.J._

...

"I'm glad you're happy," Annabeth told her sister as they walked arm and arm through the gardens.

"But..." Rachel trailed off, directing a pointed look towards her sister.

"But nothing," Annabeth assured her with a delicate shake of her head. "If he is truly a good match for you, I have no reason not to be pleased."

"Oh, he is," Rachel burst out, her eyes shining at her sister's approval. "He is all I imagined and more. He is charming and kind and _beautiful_. I even become warm and unusually giddy under his gaze. I feel special and wanted and—"

"Would he be a good King?" Annabeth asked, cautiously focusing her sister on more important subjects.

"Oh," Rachel paused. "I suppose I hadn't considered that—but he would be. He _will_ be."

"Hm," Annabeth hummed, urging her sister to continue.

"He's extremely clever and deftly avoids conflict," Rachel explained. "And isn't that what this kingdom needs? A ruler who does not actively seek out war?"

"Is he clever or intelligent?" Annabeth questioned, trying to decipher his aptitude herself.

"Is there really a difference?" Rachel giggled, casting her sister a dubious grin.

"Yes," Annabeth answered firmly, meeting her sister's eyes resolutely.

"He must be both then," Rachel glowed. "Gods, Annabeth. He is so intelligent. I swear, he knows something about _everything_. And as for his wit, he is quick and skillful when he speaks."

"I'm happy then," Annabeth curved her lips into a smile for her sister's sake.

"Annabeth, you have no idea how he makes me feel. When I'm around him, something within me _flutters_ , it twists and turns my gut. It feels like—well, an illness—but in the best way, I assure you. I finally understand why some call love a disease. That is how it feels, that's _all_ I feel." The redhead giggled wildly. "I realize it's incredibly uncouth for a future queen to speak of such things but," she cast a nervous glance at her sister, swallowing loudly before speaking. "I can picture us—together, I mean. He would be gentle and kind and romantic."

"You certainly feel strongly," Annabeth observed, a coil of dread curling at the bottom of her gut. She didn't let it show. "Are you sure he shares your sentiments?"

"Yes," Rachel nodded vigorously. "He _must_. He told me as much, and he said it with such alacrity, described the feelings in such detail that there is no way he could have lied. I can't wait until the ball tonight. Whenever he—he just barely touches me, I feel light headed. And he _does_ —touch me, I mean. Is that not evidence enough of his affections?" Rachel licked her lips, clearly dazed even as she spoke of the feeling. "He makes me feel like a little girl again—makes me believe anything is possible again."

As Annabeth pondered her sister's description of the Duke, she watched her. She noted Rachel's jade eyes, gleaming with a pure, untapped innocence so strong it must have come from an angel itself. She wondered if anyone could be more pure, more _deserving_ than her sister. Despite all that Rachel had learned of people's true natures, all that they had lived through, she faced every day with a cheerful optimism. She was so unlike anyone ever met. So positively pure, a childlike wonder imprinted into her features, that Annabeth felt a need to protect her. It went beyond her duty to her family and to the crown. There was something precious about her sister, something that could easily be corrupted. A light that Annabeth was determined to preserve at all costs.

"I wonder if I'll ever be as happy as you," Annabeth revealed in a moment of rare honesty.

"Of course, you will," Rachel laughed, her words dripping with care and concern. Her brows furrowed into a skeptical frown. "When you marry Luke, you will feel as I do. You will be so overcome by affection and love that all else around you will melt away."

"Of course," Annabeth responded, forcing her lips into a tight smile. "How could I have forgotten."

It was at that moment that Rachel noticed the despondent glimmer in her sister's eyes.

"Annabeth," she curled a comforting hand around the blonde's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Annabeth grinned suddenly. "I simply realized I forgot to ask Luke to bring me a book upon his return."

"Oh, Annabeth," her sister laughed, throwing her head back and her arm around her sister. "You spend far too much time with your nose stuck in books. You must have exhausted our entire collection. So much information will make your head explode."

Annabeth made a vague noise of disagreement to which her sister responded.

"You simply _must_ socialize more."

Rachel giggled again at her sister's disgruntled expression and steered them back towards the castle.

...

After returning to the castle and ensuring her sister had the necessary security, Annabeth returned to her room. Once there, she sat down at her desk, wet her quill with her tongue, and began to draft a letter.

 _Sir Nicolas,_

 _Please have all texts that write of the history of Atlantis or ancestry of the Jackson family sent to the castle. I will return the books I already own, though I am sure you are already aware of the royal collection's contents._

 _You will receive payment for the texts I find valuable at the end of the month._

 _Your discretion is expected._

Annabeth was just about to sign her name when there was a knock at her door and an announcement.

"Your royal majesty, the Queen."

Annabeth raised her head, indicating for her soldier allow her mother entrance, before wetting her quill again and finishing her letter.

 _Your Royal Highness,_

 _Annabeth Chase_

"That's a disgusting habit, you know?" her mother remarked as she glided in, eyeing Annabeth's quill distastefully. "Not to mention dangerous, if someone wished to poison you, they could simply use your quill."

"Mother," Annabeth greeted, folding her letter into three before slipping it into an envelope. "I'm sure you didn't come to your least favorite room in the castle simply to advise me about my safety. Why are you here?"

"I have a request to make," the Queen declared. "There is a rumor, one I need investigated."

"And you believe I am the person to do it?" Annabeth countered, setting aside her letter and standing to meet her mother by the window overlooking the gardens. Her sister was outside, several guards surrounding her as she sketched upon the grassy lawn.

"I know you well, Annabeth," her mother commented, turning to gaze at the blonde. "I know your letter must concern your sister's new suitor, just as I know you are willing to protect your sister with your life."

"It's what you taught me," Annabeth remarked, biting her cheek and avoiding her mother's eyes. "Does this rumor have to do with Rachel?"

"Indirectly, yes."

"Well, what is it?" Annabeth asked, exasperated. "I certainly can't do anything unless you tell me."

"The men who assassinated William Dohlov have been caught," her mother revealed.

"And?" the blonde urged, impatiently.

"Your father and I had previously believed William's murder was over the religious conflict that is raging in his kingdom. We figured a group of angry Catholics had conspired to murder him. However, it seems these men are contract killers—"

"Meaning someone wanted Willaim dead," Annabeth finished for her, her stomach contracting painfully. "Someone with money and influence."

"Indeed," the Queen confirmed. "I need to know who wanted him dead. I worry they may turn their eyes on your sister next."

"Okay," Annabeth nodded, bit her lip in thought as she considered the suspicious circumstances of the young Duke's death and the subsequent entrance of another Duke in their kingdom. "I will speak to my informants and relay my findings."

"Thank you," her mother nodded her head, sparing her a faint smile.

"No need," Annabeth sighed, striding back to her desk to draft a dozen more letters. "It's family."

Silence followed her words, and the blonde was sure her mother had already left her room when her voice sounded once again.

"I know you believe I hate you, Annabeth," her mother uttered, catching the blonde's attention and holding her raised gaze. "I don't. I truly don't. But I cannot see your room without remembering what happened here. I cannot look at _you_ without seeing _her_."

"I know," Annabeth muttered, so quietly her words were sensed rather than heard.

With that, her mother exited the room, and the blonde was once again left to her own thoughts, the horrible event flashing behind her eyelids whenever she shut her eyes.

 _What have you done?_ her mother had shrieked, striking her harshly across the cheek. _What have you done?_

Annabeth could still feel the pain like it was yesterday, the dark dread quickly consuming her. She would protect her sister this time around. She would not be so careless. She would not forget her purpose.

Annabeth reached into her desk drawer and took out half a dozen sheets of parchment. Slowly, meticulously, she wrote every letter, detailing the rumor and carefully explaining her circumstances. When she was done, she reached into her drawer again and reached for her wax and stamp. Slowly, Annabeth used a candle to melt the blood-red wax into the spoon and watched with detached fascination as she dripped it onto one of the envelopes, delicately creating a perfect circle.

Annabeth sighed when she was finished, setting aside the spoon and reaching for her seal. She pressed it into the half-hardened wax, watching the wax curl around the royal family shield.

...

Annabeth was ready long before the ball began, sitting on her bed in wait. As she had no escort, she was on no man's time.

As she waited, Annabeth tore through a book that detailed the economic history of Atlantis. She was already aware that the majority of their profits came from their lucrative seaports. Using assessments provided to her by the royal teller, she estimated the Port of Atlantis accepted at least five shipments every week. It was virtually unheard of for a single strip of land to see so much activity.

Still, these numbers did not afford Annabeth with the information she was searching for. They offered an additional reason _her_ family would be eager to unite themselves with his, rather than why _his_ would choose hers on such short notice. It wasn't that her family had nothing to offer, they had riches, fertile land, a dynamic military, and most of all, a _crown_.

Still, however. It seemed illogical for the Duke of Atlantis, a man who had been, until recently, betrothed to neighboring Duchess, to so quickly break off the engagement for a chance at the crown.

Or perhaps it _wasn't_ as illogical as she previously conceived, Annabeth considered. Perhaps she was underestimating the sway of a crown, a chance for power and glory.

"Your Highness," one of her ladies spoke, breaking her train of thought.

"Yes," Annabeth addressed, lowering her book.

"The time has come," the lady explained. "You asked me to alert you."

"Yes," Annabeth nodded. "Of course, thank you." She slid her bookmark into place before shutting the book in her hands and placing it under her pillow. She would be careful to observe the Duke's behavior tonight. She would see if he was truly as enamored with his sister as Rachel had claimed.

With a deep breath, Annabeth rose from her bed. She slipped on her small heels, careful not to tear her tights. She turned to another of her ladies and nodded. The woman stepped forward, carefully placing her tiara atop her head.

"Let us go," Annabeth breathed.

* * *

a/n: ay, third chapter coming at u fast. Anyway, the "disgustingly tanned" line is just because, at the time, pale skin was celebrated. Same for that sexist comment, it was just the times. I'm trying to keep that fucked shit away, but ya know, the past was fucked up—so got to be slightly realistic.

Also, I realize Annabeth's protective attitude is gonna seem a little obsessive but 1. that's kind of how I perceive her, like willing to sacrifice anything for her chosen family (like Luke and Thalia), 2. there will be events revealed that show why she is so crazy about protecting her sister, other than the obvious.

Dedicated to the guest who I think signed as _Thisisawesomeness1825_ and also to everyone who voted that this was their fav of my stories in my poll bc that's a lot of faith when we're only on the second chapter (well, third chapter now). Your confidence in me is v much appreciated.

Love yall

iciao!

p.s. the next chapter will probably come relatively quick because it's the first direct Percabeth interaction, and I'm ridiculously excited about!

p.p.s. can you guys see the bold in the journal entry? bc in when I published it, I realized I could not. So, ya know, just wondering.


	4. Chapter 3

"Duke Halov," Annabeth greeted with a wide, welcoming smile.

"Your Highness," the nobleman replied with a bow. "You are beautiful as ever. Where is your sister? I wish to pay my respects."

"She will be arriving soon," Annabeth explained. "Duke Jackson is escorting her."

"Ah, I see. Of course," the Duke nodded before inclining his head a final time and stepping forward, into the spacious ballroom.

Annabeth sighed as another nobleman approached her, clearly meaning to express his gratitude. It was more of the same. It was _always_ more of the same. The meaningless introductions and empty platitudes had always seemed entirely tedious to the blonde. Of course, she understood why they were needed, without frequent reminders of one's political standing, people were likely to forget the natural order and rebel. Still though, after seventeen years of trivial introductions, useless small talk, and careful dances, Annabeth had grown quite bored with the social norms.

Several minutes later, after having entertained at least four other guests, Annabeth spotted her sister out of the corner of her eye. Rachel's fiery hair had always distinguished her from others. At a glance, it made her strike one as bold, feisty. The second she opened her mouth, though, her sweet, soft words left her and her true nature was revealed. Annabeth's hair on the other hand, appeared rather meek—granted she tamed her curls, of course—whereas her demeanor was quite the opposite.

As children, they'd joked of cutting off each other's locks and pasting them to their own heads. Annabeth almost laughed out loud at the innocent memory.

"Rachel," Annabeth grinned toothily when she saw her. "You'll have to excuse me, Sir Smith," the blonde said to the man before her. "I must greet my sister."

"Of course, your Highness," he agreed, a pleasant curve to his lips as he bowed his head to her. She acknowledged the gesture with a smile, trying not to appear _too_ uninterested in the niceties.

Once he had stepped out of the way, Annabeth rushed forward, her feet gliding under her dress. She wrapped her arms around her sister when she reached her, very little care for the Duke who was standing by her side.

"You look wonderful," Annabeth whispered into her ear as she embraced her.

"As do you," Rachel smiled, her green eyes sparkling in the light as they parted.

"Green is certainly your color," Annabeth remarked, gazing at her sister's beautiful gown. "It brings out your eyes and makes your auburn hair appear to burn before my own two eyes."

"You're too kind," Rachel laughed, blushing a bit at the comment.

"Your Highness," Percy's voice suddenly cut in, and Annabeth head whipped to face him, having forgotten he was there. He met her eyes, bowing before her.

"Duke," Annabeth returned, watching as he rose. She couldn't be sure, but she was almost positive she'd seen a rebellious glint in his eyes, a patronizing lilt to his words, as if he were mocking her, as if—

No, surely not. He would not be so dauntless. He would not be so _reckless_. He would not disrespect a princess whose sister he wished to marry.

She examined him warily, her eyes following his every minuscule movement, just to be certain.

"Did you have a pleasant day?" Percy asked her politely. Well, he _looked_ polite anyway.

"Yes," Annabeth forced herself not to glare at his easy expression. She was royalty. She was fucking _royalty._ Why was he so at ease? Had he no idea what she could do to him if he disrespected her? Did he not know how unstable his position was in this castle? She could have him killed. She could have him fucking _killed_ —

"I'm pleased," he responded. "Your sister and I spent a wonderful hour touring the castle. I had no idea how expansive it was."

"I showed him your library," Rachel added, looking much too comfortable for Annabeth's liking. She observed with a blank expression as Rachel wrapped her bare hand around the crook of Percy's elbow, her gut clenching uncomfortably.

" _Your_ library?" Percy repeated, raising a brow at her, as if she couldn't _possibly_ own a library.

Honestly, _fuck_ him.

Annabeth was entirely exhausted with his carefree manner. It wasn't that she _wanted_ to kill him—well— _no_ , she didn't want to kill him. But goddamit, she _could._ If she wanted to, she _could_. She wanted him to respect her, to treat her not like a petulant child, like the princess she was.

No, she didn't want to kill him, but she wanted him to treat her like she might, like she _could_.

"I had no idea you owned the library," he remarked.

The words were harmless enough, but they carried such an air of condescending skepticism that Annabeth was left with her lips parted, struggling not to grit her teeth in response.

She breathed in deeply, shallowly, tried to soothe her agitation, was only somewhat successful.

What the absolute _fuck_? Who the _hell_ did he think he was to speak to _her_ this way? Did he treat _Rachel_ this way?

"No, no," Rachel answered for him in a laughing tone. The blonde was grateful in retrospect, her sister's smooth voice did wonders to ease her annoyance. "I simply call it that because she is the only one who ever spends time there."

"Well," Annabeth tried to argue. "That's not exactly true. Our governess still requires we read—"

" _Voluntarily_ , I mean," Rachel smirked, peeking at Annabeth with a jovial crinkle of her nose. Had the circumstances been different, Annabeth would have been overjoyed her sister was enjoying herself so. "Annabeth spends so much time in there that we search for her there first before checking her own dormitory."

Percy just barely mouthed something—It was—It was _A_ _nnabeth_ , she was sure it. She knew her own name for gods sake. She's regarded him as he carefully wrapped his lips around the syllables, his tongue wetting them as if to taste the sounds.

She was angry. She was _dizzy_. She was— _confused_ , _really_. She wasn't sure what she was or how she felt, but she desperately needed to put space between herself and Percy Jackson lest she say something entirely uncouth without intending to.

"You two better go enjoy the ball," Annabeth said quickly, breathlessly— _unreasonably_ breathless, honestly. "They have _just_ started a waltz, and, besides, there are many loyal subjects waiting to flatter their future queen."

"Oh," Rachel laughed nervously, anxiety clearly setting into her eyes, dulling their gleam. Annabeth felt a painful lurch in her stomach at the realization that the emotion was her fault.

"We must be going then," Rachel remarked. "Join us?" she offered, her eyes pleading. Under any other conditions, Annabeth would have noted the anxiety in her sister's green eyes and volunteered herself without thinking twice, but today, Percy Jackson was here.

"I will meet you in a second," Annabeth assured her. "Mother requested I speak to her."

"Ah," Rachel nodded. She took a deep breath, turning to her companion who had fallen silent. "Ready, Percy?"

"Absolutely," he grinned. He looked at Annabeth, his eyes gleaming with a brass entirely inappropriate for someone of his status. "Your Highness," he bid her with a polite bow.

And though the bow had been perfect, his head dipping partially—not too much, just enough—Annabeth found herself holding her breath, unreasonably terrified he would utter her Christian name rather than her title. She had no idea what she would do if he did.

But he didn't. He didn't, and she wasn't disappointed. She _wasn't_.

It was only as he swept her sister away and her soft giggles faded into the classical music and boisterous crowd that Annabeth realized it was the first time they'd ever spoken. This had been their first interaction.

This had been their _first_ interaction, and he'd chose to act like _that_.

This was absurd. This was— _too much_.

Annabeth shook her head.

For someone who had always lived the predetermined life her parents had expected of her, who had always followed the rules, even when she _detested_ them, such a blatant disregard for station and civility was unheard of. It was unnatural and foreign and—

Too much.

...

Annabeth watched her sister and her suitor through the night. She knew what she was doing. She held no false delusions. If anyone caught her, there was no denying it. Even as her fingers pressed against her dance partner's, her eyes glided across the room, seeking out red hair only to trail it. Annabeth had no idea why nobles continued asking her to dance when it was so apparent she was distracted. She could not have been pleasant company.

Rachel and Percy had danced almost the entire night. It seemed they were inseparable, only parting when a loyal nobleman wished to dance with the future. Then, when the dance was finishing, there was Percy, waiting for Rachel with a smile so wide it had to be fake—it _had_ to be. It was only after a Duchess asked Percy to dance that Annabeth was finally able to speak to her sister in private, though she _did_ have to drag her away from a surprising number of gushing Ladies and Duchesses.

"What is it?" Rachel asked Annabeth with a smile once they were alone—well, not _really_ alone, but there were at least ten feet from any prying eyes and ears.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Annabeth questioned, momentarily masking her concern.

"Oh, Annabeth," Rachel started, her chest pushing against bodice as she inhaled excitedly. "I'm having the time of my life. I have never met anyone I liked more than Percy. He's my best friend."

"That's—great," Annabeth muttered hastily, quickly concealing the hurt that making her chin tremble. Rachel was her favorite person. Rachel was _her_ best friend. Had her sister so easily replaced her? And with Percy fucking Jackson?

"He is always on my mind," Rachel continued. "Even when I sleep, I think of him."

"Rachel," Annabeth began, licking her lips. "Remember what I said when we were walking in the gardens?"

"Which time?" Rachel laughed airly. "We've only spent _years_ there."

"The _last_ time," Annabeth said then, at her sister's confused expression, pressed. "It—it doesn't matter—I told you to be careful, remember? I told you not to let him control you, not to let your _feelings_ for him control you."

"I—I'm not," Rachel stuttered, a deep, her features forming a bemused frown.

"Yes," Annabeth tried to underscore. "You are."

"No," Rachel denied firmly. "I'm _not_."

"Rachel—" Annabeth's voice turned soft.

"No, Annabeth," her sister returned sharply. "Don't _Rachel_ me like I'm some child who cannot think for herself. I think I know myself better than you do—"

"But—" the blonde tried to interject again, but it was useless.

"I don't need you to protect me." Rachel glanced over her shoulder, glanced at _him_ , at Percy. She took a deep breath before continuing, her tone far away. "I—I'm soon to be Queen, and you won't always be here. I need to know how to make decisions for myself."

Annabeth choked on a gasp at her sister's words but forced it back down. "What—what do you mean I won't always be here?" she questioned, suddenly quiet and trembling.

"I mean you'll be in Andalucia with Luke," Rachel smiled, looking confused again, thought the crease of her forehead had yet to dissipate. "You'll be the center of your _own_ love story and—I don't know—traveling the world?"

The redhead placed a delicate hand on her sister's shoulder. They were the same height, had always been the same height, despite their differing ages. Why then, did Rachel feel so much taller? Why did Annabeth feel her towering over her, imposing on her space, her shadow an overwhelming presence?.

"Knowing you," Rachel progressed, a playful curve to her lips. Her sister struggled to find her voice. "You'll want to study in every great library all over the world."

"I wouldn't—" Annabeth hissed, desperation seeping into her pores. "I would _never_ leave you."

"Annabeth," Rachel sighed, once again glancing at the dance floor as the song ended.

The blonde felt the room closing in on her. The music becoming white noise in her own personal nightmare.

"You could do so many great things." Rachel curled her free hand around Annabeth's cheek, cupping it with a tenderness the blonde had only ever felt from her. "You have such a great mind. Behind these castle walls, you are constrained. I would never force you to stay—"

"You wouldn't be _forcing_ me," Annabeth cut in quickly, her hand snatching Rachel's by the wrist, pulling it away from her face and towards her chest. "I would never leave. I have never _considered_ leaving."

"Well," Rachel frowned, pulling her hand back from Annabeth's deathly grip. "Maybe you should. Once I'm married, I'll have Percy. I won't need you, Annabeth. You'll be free. And that's what you've always wanted right? Freedom."

 _No_ , Annabeth wanted desperately to scream, _no no no,_ but her voice was lost somewhere deep inside her.

"You'll be able to do as you please— _study_ what you please."

Rachel bit her lip, glancing at the floor. Her eyes were missing their usual light, Annabeth noticed. Had _she_ extinguished it?

"Can we talk about this tomorrow," Rachel inquired, her fingers twitching at her sides. "I promised Percy I'd find him after the song ended. He'll be wondering where I am."

Annabeth nodded. She couldn't speak—was afraid to, really. She was terrified of what she might say if she opened her mouth right now. Her head was in the midst of a savage storm, unlike anything she'd ever felt before.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Rachel added before turning to leave, her words still burning into Annabeth's head.

The blonde tore through the crowd, away from the dance floor, fighting the tears blistering behind her eyes. She didn't stop until she had put sufficient space between herself and the festivities. She hid in a small, dark alcove, flattening herself against the cool stone wall and allowing the chill to flow through her.

It was too much. It was all too much.

— _you won't always be here_ —

She felt like she couldn't breathe. She was being suffocated by her own throat.

She didn't want to cry. She _wouldn't_ cry, but—

But—

— _I would never force you to stay_ —

But her whole life, Annabeth had dedicated herself to her family. Every step she took, every word she wrote, every _breath_ she took, she kept her family in mind, considered how it might affect them.

It was her job. It was her _duty,_ but—

But—

— _I won't need you_ —

Annabeth's heart stuttered. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe her family didn't _need_ her. Maybe Luke was right when he'd told her she was obsessive, that they didn't care about her like she cared about them.

Perhaps she had miscalculated. Perhaps her sister could truly be happy with Percy. Perhaps her intervention was not necessary nor welcomed. After all, from what she had seen, Percy had been nothing but kind and charming with Rachel. _Annabeth_ had been the one causing her sister stress.

 _And_ , Annabeth considered, swallowing harshly at the thought, perhaps she had overreacted during she and Percy's parlance earlier. For all she knew, it had been one-sided. Rachel had mentioned earlier that Percy was rather informal. Perhaps she had imagined the entire interaction. Perhaps she had exaggerated what she'd seen out of inexperience. Men were not normally so casual with her. Moreover, that's what she'd wanted, wasn't it? A break from the norms.

So why was she complaining? Why was she causing problems? Why was she threatening her sister's happiness? Why was she dulling Rachel's light?

Gods, she was so _stupid_. Annabeth ran her fingers through her hair, messing up the hairdo her ladies had slaved over only a few hours ago. She felt so stupid.

"Your Highness?" she thought she heard, but it was just the echo of a voice.

The blonde swallow back a sob and tried to put her curls back in order.

The soft pitter patter of far-off steps slowly came into range. Followed by a similar calling. "Your Highness," a familiar voice sounded. "Hello?"

With another deep breath, Annabeth stepped out of the shadows and began walking towards the voice.

"Your Highness," it called again. It was one of her ladies. She was certain now.

"Arielle," Annabeth said in response.

She heard the steps pause before picking up again, much quicker this time. It was no time at all before her lady was rounding the corner, striding towards her determinedly.

"Your Highness," the lady greeted with a quick bow of her head, clearly ignoring the obvious symptoms of distress littering Annabeth's features. "You asked me to alert you when any response of your letters arrived," she took a breath. "This one arrived only a few minutes ago."

"So soon?" Annabeth frowned, her previous troubles momentarily leaving her. "Was it returned?" she wondered out loud before reaching for the letter.

"No, your Highness," her Lady said. "The seal is not yours."

"Thank you, Arielle," Annabeth whispered, taking the letter from her and quickly tearing into it.

"Um," the Lady interjected, clearing her throat. "Your Highness?"

"Yes?" Annabeth glanced up, trying not to look annoyed.

"Do you plan on returning to the ball?" she questioned delicately, wringing her hands nervously.

"I'm—I'm not sure," Annabeth replied honestly. "Why?"

"I could help her Highness with her hair," she smiled, a playful lilt to her tone. "If she planned on returning."

"Oh," Annabeth blinked, remembering how she had just mussed it. "Of course," she nodded finally. "Go ahead."

"Thank you, your Highness," the girl smiled before stepping behind the blonde and beginning to fit the curls back into their desired positions.

Annabeth ignored the pinching and pulling at her scalp and turned her attention towards the letter in her hands.

 _Your Highness,_

 _I have heard of the men you write of. They are of urban legend in the area. Of course, however, there are a few of us who know the truth. They are a group of military deserters who became assassins. From what I know they charge very much for their services. Someone with money and influence must have wanted William Dohlov. This, however, is not for the reason that I warn your Highness to be careful. One of my informants notified me that before their capture, the group of men was known to be staying in Atlantis. As you have just welcomed the Duke of that very land, I would recommend your Highness and her family be extremely careful in the coming weeks. It is for this reason I have sent this with such haste. I hope it has reached you before anything drastic has been done._

 _I have the honor to be your loyal subject,_

 _Hannah Buelher_

Annabeth should have felt fear and anger at the letter, at the possibility that Percy Jackson had been involved in the death of William Dohlov. Nevertheless, after her convoluted thoughts, she was engulfed in hot, burning triumph. It rushed through her, sending her heart into a frenzy. Perhaps she _hadn't_ been wrong. This rumor, at the very least, was proof she _was_ needed. Rachel did need her.

"Are you done, Arielle?" Annabeth asked her lady, ignoring the sapling of relief blossoming in her chest at the realization.

"Just finished, your Highness," she replied with a small smile. "Was the letter helpful, your Highness?"

"Yes," Annabeth affirmed. "Very much so, thank you for finding me."

"Of course, your Highness," the young girl nodded.

And perhaps it was the adrenaline induced buzz of excitement sweeping through Annabeth, or perhaps it was the fact that she had just heard _your Highness_ more times than she could count, but she was suddenly speaking, having not considered the possible ramifications of her actions.

"You know, Arielle," she told her, her voice tingling with the thrill of a new challenge. "You need not address me so formally when it is just the two of us. We have known each other for nearly five years now, surely you can call me Annabeth in privacy."

"Of—of course, your—Annabeth," the girl stuttered, her eyes wide and wonderful.

"Take me to the ball," Annabeth commanded, though her words did not hold the same strength as usual. "I have some business to attend to before heading to bed."

...

When Annabeth returned to the celebration, wearing a frightful grin, she had fully intended to catch Percy between dances and press him for details—well, not _press_ him exactly. No, she was not nearly so inept. She was simply going to mention William Dohlov's death offhandedly, perhaps suggest levels of sorrow her sister had suffered after such a tragedy.

She was forced to alter her plans, however, when the very Duke she had planned to question suddenly appeared by her side, the curve of his lips entirely too smug for her liking.

"Would you like to dance, your Highness?" he asked without any other introduction, his eyes trained on hers. It was a challenge, she figured. He was daring her to try.

"Absolutely," she answered, never having been one to back down, especially when she had a leg up.

He held out a hand, his eyes giving very little away. She placed hers in his. His skin was rough and abrasive against hers.

The Duke led them to the center of the dance floor, weaving between couples preparing for the next dance. Annabeth carefully positioned herself with her hand flat against his, her other hand brushing the fine fabric of her dress as it fell to her side. He did the same, meeting her eyes impassively.

"Are you enjoying your stay in our kingdom?" Annabeth asked him, settling her features into a pleasant expression. It was all so much easier knowing she was in the right, knowing she really _was_ protecting her sister.

"Yes," he nodded simply.

The music began, the violins echoing throughout the hall. Percy began to turn, she followed, allowing him to lead.

"I'm glad," Annabeth breathed, her eyes never leaving his as they both shifted, switching hands and changing directions and they continued turning around each other. "I worry I may have been a rather rude hostess," she revealed.

"I saw nothing of the sort," Percy replied, though she detected something akin to recognition light up in his eyes.

"Well," Annabeth proceeded. "I apologize, nonetheless. I tend to be a bit protective of my sister you see, so at times I act impulsively."

"I have a hard time believing you are anything but deliberate," he countered, his lips curling at the corner into an irritating smirk, "your Highness."

Annabeth parted her lips to speak but closed them quickly as she had nothing to say. He raised his right hand above them—one half of a delicate arc—as the other male partners did the same around. She mirrored his motion and caught his fingers with hers, completing the bow.

"You, contrarily, I have heard is anything but," Annabeth remarked with a pointed look, deciding to take a more aggressive stance.

She watched his lips quirk, threatening a smile as his gaze narrowed. She took a step back, he followed forward, his fingers never leaving hers.

"Have you now?" he mused with a hum, his feet moving slowly to the designated meter. "And _however_ , did you hear that?"

"One of my Ladies mentioned it in passing," Annabeth explained simply, matching his movements.

They rocked back and forth, alternating their steps.

He rolled his eyes. She scoffed.

"Did she?" he prompted. "Are you sure you haven't been doing reconnaissance on me, your Highness?"

They pulled their arms away smoothly, lowering them to their sides.

"And if I have?" Annabeth countered, skipping once as she was pulled under his arm. She spun on her toes, her index finger just kissing the lines of his palm. "It would have been foolish to allow you to enter our Kingdom knowing nothing of you."

"And what did you find out?" he questioned, his voice predatory as he pulled her close, both his hands fastening on her waist.

"Very little," she whispered, grasping his shoulders as he lifted her into the air, her feet just barely kicking. He lowered her to the ground gracefully.

His hand rose to the back of her neck, supporting her as he dipped her. She felt rather than saw the sneer on his face, his hot breath spilling down her lips, falling to her chest. Her hand between them scarcely faltered as he brought her back to her feet, depositing her back on the dancefloor with a grace she had not seen in a long time.

"Accounts of you seem to have very limited information," she recounted once on the stable ground, the heavy undercurrent of her words echoing across his features.

"Accounts of you, on the other hand, seem to have a plethora," he returned before she could voice her accusation. She felt herself gasp, an unfamiliar fire yearning inside her as she turned away from him, turning in a small circle before returning to him and placing her hand delicately in his.

"You researched me, did you, Duke?" Annabeth confronted, careful to watch his expression, indexing his every motion.

Her words were sharp, her movements anything but.

"As you said," he dismissed stoicly, "it would be foolish _not_ to."

"And what, pray to tell, did you find?" she inquired as they swayed, their shoulders _pushing, pulling, pushing, pulling_.

Annabeth counted her steps, careful not to lose track. _One, two, three, four—_

He spun her, once, twice, three times _—_ his movements practiced, _perfect_.

"Nothing but contradictions," he said in a hushed voice, barely moving his lips as he did.

His hand clasped hers behind the curve of her waist, the other above them. She took it with purpose.

She stepped backward. He surged forward.

She was breathless, hot, dizzy— _again_. She briefly wondered if she'd been poisoned.

"Tender, but strong," he continued, his voice a distasteful, disgraceful, delicious hum in her ears. "Kind, but dangerous."

She felt her eyes cloud over, her blood rushing in her ears _—keep dancing—_ she needed to speak _—keep dancing—_ she needed to interject _—keep dancing—_ she needed to _open her fucking mouth_ —

"But you seem perfectly harmless to me." The words were what any noblewoman wanted to hear—theoretically speaking, of course—realistically, however, it was an insult, a purposeful blow to her pride. "You are a perfectly pleasant, docile, young woman, your Highness."

His eyes glimmered with mirth. He was winding her up. He was making fun of her. He thought this was _funny_. He thought _she_ was funny.

She had had enough.

"I _am_ harmless," Annabeth snapped quickly before righting herself, swallowing back rage and replacing it with softness, "to those who do not threaten me or my family."

She watched his gaze narrow, his pupils dilating before her own eyes.

His hands found her waist again. She wrapped her left hand around his neck as he lifted her, her delicate hand gesture stretching between them.

"But," she added airly with a light sigh as he lowered her, her soles kissing the dance floor once again. "If one were to threaten me _or_ my family—"

She raised her hand, curling her fingers around his cheek, her thumb skimming his raised cheekbone. Female counterparts around the room did the same.

"Then they would find themselves facing a very _different_ princess—some might even say _dangerous_."

After the required beat, Percy mirrored her action, his rough fingers ghosting over her rosy skin.

"I'm sure I won't meet her," he murmured. "I am, after all, _family_."

" _If_ you join my family," Annabeth resisted, pushing back the urge to dig her manicured nails into his skin. "You will be lucky enough to gain my protection and respect."

His eyes flashed to hers, and he smiled, the corners of his lips barely curling.

They parted, their hands sliding against each other as they turned around the dance floor, following the line of couples that did the same.

"And until then?" he breathed, careful to keep his eyes on the man in front of him.

"Why don't you ask William Dohlov?" Annabeth touched, deliberately hypersensitive to his every reaction.

He was quiet, but his fingers twitched. But it was so minuscule, she couldn't be sure.

"A terrible accident what happened to him," she drove delicately, her tongue softly articulating each word as it left her. "Wasn't it?"

"Terrible," he confirmed. His eyes still didn't meet hers, but he didn't move either. She would have to go further to be sure, expose _one_ of her cards.

They paused their steps. She turned into him, his rough fingers catching her elbow.

"A devout Christian, a faithful follower of God—" she began, pausing when he spun her.

She slowly turned around him, light, steady steps so the toes of her shoes never showed beyond her skirt.

"A Duke in his own right struck down at his prime—" Annabeth said when she was face to face with him again, her piercing eyes tracing the curves and lines of his impassive expression.

The music built up around them, the harp drowned out completely by the violent violin.

Percy placed his hands on her waist one final time. She gripped his shoulders, her fragile touch and refined tone, a seeming contradiction with the harsh undercurrent of her words.

They waited for the beat.

"Poisoned on a sacred Sunday morning—"

The minuet crescendoed. He lifted her into the air. She straightened her arms, fluttering her ankles.

"By _deserters_ , nonetheless."

His fingers tensed around her waist, tightening their grip, and his eyes flickered, a barely there glint flashing for an infinitesimal instant. What most would have missed, she had seen. She had _seen_ it.

He lowered her slowly, his eyes trained on hers, the line of his lips flat. Her heels made contact with the ground softly.

And she smiled—really, truly, fucking smiled because she knew— _knew_ —she'd won.

* * *

a/n: ayy, how spicy was that? So it might take me a little bit to update because I literally just moved into my dorm two hours ago and in the midst of a very exhausting orientation session. But I couldn't resist posting this chapter because it's just the first solid percabeth we see. Also, didn't edit so have mercy.

Anyways, this chapter is dedicated to _Fangirl Shrieks_ and the guest who reviewed for their kind words of encouragement.

p.s. I have a new poll up and y'all should check it out

p.p.s. sorry I do so many polls, I'm really into analytics so it's just fun for me. Also, I like seeing what yall think and hearing your input.


	5. Chapter 4

_April 30th, 1649_

 _Fuck._

 _The sister—Annabeth—is much more dangerous than I realized. I thought her a small dispute, figured she would never amount to a real threat against me, against my plans, but I was wrong. She knows far more than she should_ _. No one—_ _ **no one**_ _—was supposed to find out about Dohlov. That had been the agreement. Clearly, something has gone wrong though because_ _ **she** knows something_ _._

 _I wonder if someone told her or if she worked it out herself. Though I detest it, I must say she's intelligent. Not that she doesn't portray herself as such. Any reports of the girl being meek or reserved are absolute horse shit._

 _I knew she was dangerous the minute I stepped into the castle. Her hard gaze lingered on me far too long to only entertain mild interest, and it was far too piercing to be innocent curiosity. And then, last night—_

 _ **Last night**_ _—_

 _So stupid. Everything was so stupid._ _ **I**_ _was so stupid—but I couldn't **help** it. _

_In the beginning, I was just goading her. It's fun to play with miss prim little princess. She exudes such an aggressive aura of perfection, I felt it was my_ _ **duty**_ _to fuck it up. And gods, was it worth it—her_ _ **eyes**_ _when she's mad. They're **clear**. What is normally a swirling storm, suddenly disappears and calm is all that remains. It is the oddest thing to describe. As if rage consumes her, and she can suddenly think of nothing else. As if war and violence calms her_ _—_ _as if it is her norm, her preferred living enviroment._

 _It's amusing. It's entertaining. It's **invigorating**. _

_Last night was going_ _fine_ _, swimmingly, in fact, all to plan_ _—_ _when Rachel asked me to dance with her sister, and the night took a deadly turn. I wouldn't have accepted her request, but Rachel came to me, clearly troubled, and I, being the dutiful, caring fiance I am—or, pretend to be, at least—asked what I could do to make her feel better._

 _I should have known then—by the stupid, innocent curling of her lips—what she was going to request from me._

 _Dance with_ _ **Annabeth**_ _, she told me, she isn't quite sure about you yet. And I had to hold my tongue not to mention that her fucking_ _ **sister**_ _has no business commenting on the state of_ ** _our_** _relationship. Looking back I wish I hadn't. I wish I'd told Rachel the truth, maybe that way I would_ _ **not**_ _have entirely fucked up my evening. Then again, I would never have learned of Rachel's sister's suspicions either._

 _And maybe it was worth it because when I asked her sister to dance, she trained her gray eyes on me with such blatant condescension and confidence—like she already won—that I couldn't wait to knock her off her high horse. I was going to size her up, flirt a little maybe, charm her until she accepted me into her good graces. I hadn't expected it to be hard. I certainly hadn't expected her to retaliate so strongly._

 _And in the end, she just smile—just **fucking** smiled. And the curl of her lips, the flash of her teeth, was an eerie, frightening sight. It meant she knew, and worse, she **knew** she knew. _

_I shouldn't have goaded her. I should have had my fun with someone else_ _—someone who wasn't so goddamn important to the mission. Fuck, I was so stupid. She **made** me so stupid. Now I have to fix this mess I made. I have to inform them of what she knows_ _—of what she might ascertain. I'll have to avoid her from now on. She's unpredictable_ _— **dangerous**. __Nothing can jeopardize this mission_ _—nothing **will** jeopardize this mission. Last night was reckless. It shouldn't have happened. _

_But there was **one** moment that made it almost worth it. A moment when I thought I'd won. When I saw her eyes glaze over, her irises clear, and her muscles relax. She'd given up, I thought_ _—but her feet never faltered, always moving to the designated beat, following the predesigned progression. It was fascinating. It was captivating. It was **beautiful**_ _—even if she wasn't._

 _Because she wasn't_ _—_ _isn't. She **isn't**. _

_P.J._

 _..._

Annabeth spent the best part of the next day, researching the Jackson family with what texts she had at her disposal. She was sure the information and books she'd requested from town would trickle in over the rest of the week, but she thought it a waste of time to dally around until they arrived.

Percy's family had very likely hired the assassins to poison William Dohlov. That much was clear, but it wasn't that that troubled her. Instead, Annabeth worried about was their intentions in doing so. Obviously, by murdering Rachel's betrothed and quickly offering their son as a replacement, Percy's family had hoped to gain some political power. But was that their only motivation? their end goal? Did they only want their own man in power? Did they not know of the strong political ties her family had in the area? Did they not understand the difficulties that would stand in his way were he to completely control the crown?

Perhaps they didn't, she thought. After all, they seemed to be dumb enough to pay the assassins directly instead of using a third party from a far-off land and therefore further obscure their guilt.

She was nestled into the corner of her favorite chair _—_ velvet blue _—_ reading about the Jackson family's rise to success when she was interrupted.

"Annabeth," her mother greeted suddenly.

The blonde's head shot up, started as her mother had appeared unannounced. Why was she without guards? Had something happened? The concern must have shone in her eyes, as her mother quickly disputed her worries.

"Everything is okay," she said quickly, striding towards her.

"Why are you here?" Annabeth asked, startled. She shut her book, placed it on the table beside her, and stood.

"I wondered what you'd learned of the rumor I recounted to you last night," her mother responded.

"I believe the assassins were hired by Duke Jackson's family," Annabeth explained. "The evidence I have gathered supports my hypothesis. I simply wonder why they did it?"

"It's simple enough, is it not?" her mother returned, her eyes averting to the stacks of books piled high on the long table nearest Annabeth. Her gaze narrowed as she examined the titles. "They wanted their son to be king. William Dohlov was the one man standing in their way."

"But they could have easily persuaded another kingdom to betroth him to their eldest," Annabeth tried to argue, but her mom was quick to refute.

"Yes," she confirmed. "But none without a male heir to inherit the throne."

"Do you think he is a danger to us?" Annabeth voiced the question she had been pondering herself for quite a while.

"No," the Queen shook her head. "Not more than any other man would be."

"Mother—" Annabeth began but was cut off.

"Do you remember what I told you and your sister when you were young?" her mother demanded, her eyes shooting to meet Annabeth's.

"Your request is incredibly vague—"

"I told you to protect each other—to trust _no on_ e but each other," the Queen rushed out. "I told you to remember that you and Rachel, both, were born into a dangerous world. A world that will judge you based on the people you surround yourself with, not what you do or who you strive to be."

Annabeth was tempted to interrupt as she heard a variation of the speech at least once a year, but her mother's eyes were gleaming—like they used to when she was just a child, when a halo of innocence still kissed her head, and she couldn't bear to break the image.

"I failed your father miserably when I could produce no male heirs," her mother continued. "And I forced you and Rachel into a circumstance that will only end in devastation. You must be careful—you must _remember_ to be careful. Because men, they view you as a prize. You are nothing but a crown in their eyes. You are but a stepping stone to success, and there is no feeling worse than being betrayed by those you love most."

"Mother," Annabeth tried to comfort her, reaching forward to place a hand on her shoulder. Moments of vulnerability and kindness were so rare with her mother. They reminded her of simpler times, when the world had seemed far smaller and far safer. She missed it sometimes—always. She missed it always. But alas, it wasn't real. They were forced to move on. For the family, she'd had to relinquish such childish delusions.

"Just be careful and remind your sister to do the same," the Queen commanded, her voice suddenly stern again, her crumpled face morphing to stoic in an instant. "Duke Jackson is not more dangerous than any other man in the same would be. They all want the same thing: a crown."

"Yes, mother," Annabeth nodded obediently, watching out of the corner of her eye as her mother's emerald green skirt swished on the floor and the bright color disappeared from sight. By the time she looked up again, her mother was gone.

Annabeth sighed, throwing herself back into her chair. She glanced at the grandfather clock fastened to one of the shelves. She would find Rachel soon. They had promised to continue their discussion from last night, after all. And it was a subject Annabeth did not intend on dropping.

 _..._

"Her Highness, Princess Annabeth," the guard announced slowly as the blonde tapped her foot impatiently. She rolled her eyes when he finally stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

"Rachel," she sighed, her lips pursed in an irritated manner. "This is ridic—" Her words caught in her mouth at the flash of green irises before her. She narrowed her gaze, honing in on the unfamiliar eyes.

"Your Highness," Percy greeted after a second too long, a grimace sliding across his lips as his head dipped into a polite bow.

"I—" Annabeth began before cutting herself off sharply and averting her gaze to her sister who was standing near her wide window.

"Percy," Rachel spoke up quickly, sparing him a hesitant glance. "Could you give me and my sister a moment?"

"Of course," Percy nodded before exiting the room, his orbs eluding the blonde as he moved.

"Rachel," Annabeth exclaimed, scandalized, as soon as the door shut behind her. "What was he doing in here? If anyone else had walked into this room, your virtue would be under scrutiny—"

"Annabeth," Rachel sighed, lowering herself onto a small ottoman. "We were only in here for a few minutes, and there were two guards in the room."

"That doesn't matter!" Annabeth frowned. "You know the lengths people will go to tear you down—"

"Annabeth!" Rachel interrupted pointedly. The harshness of her tone surprised the blonde, starting her into silence. "I don't want to fight with you."

"So don't," Annabeth remarked, sliding her tongue across the jagged edge of her teeth.

"I wouldn't," Rachel argued. "But when you try to control every minute of my life, I can't _not_ say something—"

"I'm not trying to control you," Annabeth replied quickly. "I'm just trying to protect you—I'm trying to do what's best for the family—for the _kingdom._ Like _you_ should be—"

"Gods, Annabeth," Rachel laughed hollowly, not humor in her stance. "I can't even get a word out without you interrupted me."

The blonde parted her lips, puffing up her chest to counter before registering the argument and releasing the breath in silence.

"Sometimes I feel so suffocated," Rachel continued to explain. "I miss the time before I knew the responsibility that would come with my crown. I miss feeling young and free and—and _normal_."

"But we're not normal," Annabeth trod carefully, taking a step towards her sister. "We're better than normal—we're _royalty_."

"Have you ever considered that might not be such a good thing?" Rachel pondered, turning her gaze towards the window overlooking the front of the castle. "Sometimes I think I might have preferred to grow up a commoner as long as I'd been loved and happy. I could easily do away with all the wealth and the power and—I don't know."

"I know I can be a bit overbearing," Annabeth considered, placing a hand on her sister's shoulder, her tender fingers warming the skin beneath. "But I do it because I love you and I _want_ you to be happy."

"You don't understand," Rachel shook her head. "My whole life I've been babied. Ever since I realized I would be Queen one day, I began to feel more and more like a child. Mother, Father, _you,_ you all shower me with good intentioned suggestions and remarks, but all the attention is suffocating. I feel like I am being smothered from all sides. I—" she sighed. "I just want you to be happy for me—to have _faith_ in me—to truly believe I might be able to do this."

"I do—"

"When then believe me when I say I trust Percy," Rachel countered. "My whole life, people have been treating me like I'm made of glass. But he doesn't. I think that's why I like him. Because he believes in me. He doesn't have any doubts that I'll make a good Queen."

"He told you that?" Annabeth questioned quietly.

"Yes," Rachel nodded.

Annabeth felt something clog her throat, something dark and dangerous clawing at her heart. "Do you really think he'll allow you to rule _fairly_?" she pressed, taking a step towards her sister.

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked, oblivious to the underlining harshness of the inquiry.

Annabeth felt her jaw click, her fingers twitching at her sides. "I mean, he's a _man_." She swallowed thickly, _loudly_. "He obviously believes he is entitled to more than half of the ruling power."

"No—"

"He'll be _king_ ," Annabeth advanced. " _He'll_ be in charge. He'll _always_ be in charge."

"No," Rachel shook her head desperately, a frown spreading across her forehead as her tongue sliped out to dampen her lips. "He's not like that—I _know_ he's not."

"Don't be foolish," the blonde sneered. "They're all like that—"

"Not Percy—"

"You're being niave," Annabeth insisted. She tried to reach for her sister's hand but Rachel snatched her limb away.

"Stop that!" she shouted.

The blonde jumped, taken aback by her sister's anger. Rachel so rarely showed any kind of mal intent. Had the circumstances been different, Annabeth would have been proud of her sister for putting her foot down.

"Stop treating me like a child!" Rachel continued. "I'm not. I'm an adult in every sense."

"Rachel," Annabeth sighed, exasperated. "You're _acting_ like a child."

"No!" Rachel shook her head virgoursly. Annabeth watched out of the corner of her eyes as some red curls slipped from her updo. "If anyone is acting like a child right now, it's _you_." Rachel took a deep breath before training her eyes on the blonde, the line of her lips tight and unyeilding. "You walk around on your high horse, making condescending, passive aggressive comments about Percy when you won't even take the time to _talk_ to him. You won't even confront him with your qualms."

"Well, of course, not," Annabeth breathed. "I'm not a savage. Diplomacy must be treated delicately."

"I don't _want_ delicacy!" Rachel screamed.

Annabeth shot her a look, her eyes darting around them as the guards tightened their grips on their weapons.

"I want something _real_." Rachel's hands closed into fists. "Haven't you ever considered that? Haven't you ever wanted something _other_ than all this—this bullshit—"

"Rachel!" Annabeth hissed, grabbing her arm roughly. "Don't speak like that out here. Someone could hear you—"

"I don't care!" Rachel laughed hollowly. "I don't _care._ And I want to be with someone who doesn't care about that stuff—someone like _Percy_."

"It's not safe!" Annabeth attempted to stress.

"I don't care," Rachel said one final time before going silent, breathing slowly to remove some of the color from her fair complexion. "He treats me like a _person,_ not like a doll."

"But—"

"No, buts, Annabeth," Rachel determined firmly. "Everyone else is happy with my engagement. _Everyone_ else is happy for me. How is it the person I care about the most cannot find it in her heart to be satisfied as well."

"Rachel—"

"No," Rachel cut Annabeth off again. "I need to find Percy. I have something to discuss with him. Either accept our relationship or—I don't know," she shrugged, a sad grimace consuming her features.

She turned sharply on her heel before Annabeth could get another word in, leaving the blonde in the dust. Annabeth watched her walk away, an undeniable anger and frustration smoldering inside her, but a deep-seated sadness seeping into the heat, creating a confusing mixing pot that Annabeth was entirely uncomfortable with.

* * *

a/n: I realize this chapter is short and not amazing. But it's a filler bc college is crazy. I just got hit w hw and soro stuff and ugh. Anyway, definitely did not proofread. Also, sorry about not updating my other stories. I will try to finish funny business at some point this week and there's no way I'm editing it so it'll be out the second it's done. Treason might take a while bc even tho I have 5000 words written their shit and don't make much sense so I have to go do that.

p.s. sorry, this is like the same old Rachel Annabeth shit but I'm trying to set some stuff up. there is def more percabeth coming up.

p.p.s. this is dedicated to _Fangirl Shrieks_ bc you always leave the kindest reviews (like always) and _It'sBeenALonggDay_ bc one, it _has_ been a long day, but also for the lovely words in ur review. gracias very much both of u and everyone else who reviews and follows and favs. luv yall.

p.p.p.s. go vote on my poll

p.p.p.p.s. honestly how many of u r still reading this lol

iciao!


	6. Chapter 5

Annabeth spent rest the day considering her sister's words— _ei_ _ther accept our relationship or_ —it was an ultimatum. She still didn't trust Percy, but she wasn't willing to lose her sister over— _anything_ , really.

It was for that reason the next morning, after she had finished taking her breakfast, she inquired as to her sister whereabouts, determined to apologize to her. By no means did Annabeth intend to halt her investigation into the assassination of William Dohlov, but Rachel certainly didn't need to know that—and neither did her mother for that matter.

Despite Annabeth's remorseful intentions, however, it appeared her sister had no desire to speak to her as, whenever she asked, she was given little to no information about where exactly Rachel was. With a sigh, Annabeth decided to speak to her later, choosing instead to practice her archery in order to keep her mind off of her sister.

Annabeth had barely shot two arrows, however, when the very person she was avoiding reappeared. The blonde could feel the cool wind whipping her cheeks, coloring them. She had just drawn her third arrow and was positioning it, her eye following the delicate line of wood when her sister's fiery red hair snapped into her peripheral.

Annabeth felt herself gasp, spring air rushing into her lungs. She let her fingers deftly rest on the bowstring, the movement practiced and precise, before letting go and watching the arrow shoot towards its target.

She didn't miss. She _never_ missed.

Annabeth inclined her head, gesturing to the servant standing next to her target board to remove the arrows. She took the opportunity to peer in her sister's direction and quickly realized she wasn't alone. Percy was walking alongside Rachel, her hand curled around the crook of his arm. They were strolling at a leisurely pace, guards trailing closely behind.

The blonde pursed her lips, feeling her teeth coming down on her cheek in order to quash thoughts of sabotage. She took a deep breath, allowing her eyes to flutter shut. She attempted to focus only on the feeling of the wind rustling her hair and the rough texture of a new arrow slipping through her manicured hands. With a determined glimmer, Annabeth opened her eyes, pulling her bow taut and letting the arrow fly through the air towards the marked target.

Annabeth heard the arrow make impact with the hay, but she didn't look. She didn't need to. She never missed. It sounded the same as always.

A loud laugh erupted from the garden where her sister was sitting, drawing her attention. What were they saying? What could possibly be so funny?—It didn't matter.

The blonde rapidly pulled another arrow from the pack slung across her shoulder, pulling back and shooting it. It struck the bullseye. She pulled another and let it fly, then another, then another.

It wasn't until her arrows were finished that Annabeth, her chest heaving against the fabric of her bodice, took a break. She tried to focus on the wind, but she could still hear the echo of her sister tinkling laugh and Percy's deep one. Her fingers twitched to do something. She snuck another peek in their direction while her servant returned her arrows.

They were holding hands now, nestled into the shadow of an old oak. They were close—much too close for Annabeth's liking—and talking animatedly. Her sister was laughing. Why was she laughing so much? She—no, Annabeth tried to remind herself. She couldn't do or say anything without risking her sister's happiness and confidence.

"Your Highness," her guard caught her attention.

"Yes?" Annabeth snapped, averting her eyes and eyeing him sharply.

"Would you care for another set?" he asked, motioning to the servant holding a basket full of used arrows beside her.

"Yes," Annabeth nodded, trying to shake herself out of her frenzy. "Thank you," she added, suddenly feeling awful for speaking so sharply to the man. "Please just leave them there," she told the servant who had just unloaded the arrows onto the ground.

She bent down and picked up one of the used arrows, kissing the sharp tip with the tip of her finger. Slowly, _deliberately_ , she placed the arrow in the bow, feeling the familiar tug of the bowstring as her fingers pulled on it.

Annabeth eye's zeroed in on the red splotch of a target, her three fingers curling around the feathered fletching. The world seemed to go still around her, the very molecules in the air halting their constant displacement to watch. She breathed in, the calm washing over her as the tension built. She released the arrow, her fingers just barely moving. She felt a smile creep onto her lips as the arrow landed directly in the middle of the target.

Annabeth reached for another arrow, intending to do the same when her sister's movements once again caught her eye. She shouldn't have looked. She _shouldn't_ have looked—but she did. And when she saw Percy, leaning forward, his fingers rising to push back Rachel's hair and curl around her cheek, Annabeth's body seemed to move on its own volition. Before she knew what she was doing, she had already pointed her bow in his direction, her arrow tight against the bowstring.

Percy shifted. Her sister's back was flat against the old oak, his hand caging her in.

He took a step forward.

Annabeth gritted her teeth.

Rachel breathed in, her chest rising to meet Percy's.

His head turned, just slightly.

Annabeth's vision narrowed.

The guards behind her yelled. Percy surged forward. She shot, watching closely as the arrow followed its trajectory, shooting forward straight into the tree beside his head, just brushing the hairs on his head.

Percy and Rachel jumped apart. They both whipped around as the guards who had been standing by went wild, searching for the source of the attack. All at once, it seemed, everyone's eyes landed on Annabeth. She still held her bow, poised perfectly in her fingers.

"We can go now," Annabeth stated loudly, her eyes dipping from the scene before her. She turned to the men who had been waiting on her. They were stuck in a shocked state, their eyes wide and their mouth ajar. "I said _now_ ," Annabeth repeated, pleased when they jumped into action.

...

"I hope you're quite pleased with yourself," Rachel fumed as she stormed into the library where Annabeth had been waiting, sitting in her favorite chair. "My fiance thinks you tried to kill him."

"Maybe I did," Annabeth shrugged, a slight curve to her lips as she considered the prospect.

"Annabeth," Rachel flared, glaring in her sister's direction. "I know you have perfect aim. If you were trying to kill him, he'd be dead."

"Honestly, Rachel," Annabeth sighed. "I promised I would give you two space, but what he was about to do to you—in the middle of the gardens, no less."

"I would have stopped him," Rachel argued. "Do you have so little faith in me? Do you believe me so ignorant of my title? Of my duties?"

"I said no such thing," Annabeth shook her head, rising to stand on her feet. She took a tentative step towards her sister. "I _do_ trust you, and I _will_ give you space in your relationship."

"Then—"

"I'm sorry," Annabeth cut her sister question off. "It was a rash, thoughtless action." She took a deep breath, wrapped an arm around her stiff sister. "I acted on impulse alone, wanting to protect you. It won't happen again."

"Promise?" Rachel pressed, her eyes narrowed.

"Yes," Annabeth nodded. "I swear."

"Fine," Rachel decided with a purse of her lips, finally accepting Annabeth's embrace. "But if you do anything like that again, I won't speak to you for—no, I'll _banish_ you!"

"Banish me?" Annabeth repeated back, trying not to laugh.

"Yes," Rachel asserted, holding her chin up high. "I will banish you to a remote country where there are no books or people to torment with your knowledge."

"You forgive me, then?" Annabeth asked, stepping back to look her sister in the eyes. They were bright green, just as she always remembered them, the same innocence glinting between shades of jade.

"Of course," Rachel rolled her eyes. "But this your _last_ chance. One more misstep and you risk losing my trust and confidence forever—and I want you to apologize to Percy."

Annabeth groaned loudly.

"Stop it!" Rachel spat. "You shot an arrow at him! And now he's afraid you're plotting to assassinate him."

"I suppose I could ease his worries," Annabeth began.

"You must—" Rachel started before being interrupted by a loud yawn.

"Are you alright?" Annabeth inquired, truly examining her sister's appearance for the first time. There were dark rings under her eyes, just barely hidden by a thin layer of pale powder. "You look sickly."

"I'm perfect—"

"Rachel," Annabeth insisted, her bones tensing beneath her jawline.

"I just haven't been sleeping well," Rachel revealed.

"What do you mean?" Annabeth furthered, taking her sister by the arm and leading her over to the chair where she'd sat earlier. "Sit down for a second."

"Oh, my, Annabeth," Rachel sighed in an exasperated manner. "I'm entirely well, I've simply been plagued with the strangest dreams as of late."

"What kind of dreams?" the blonde pushed.

"Bad ones," Rachel shrugged. "I only remember flashes of them, but I wake in a cold sweat."

"What do you remember of them?"

"You," Rachel confessed blankly. Annabeth's lips formed a petite ring, but she remained silent, unsure what else to say. "And blood. Lots of blood."

"Is that all?" her sister whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse and small.

"No," Rachel shook her head. "I see Percy too—a crown—I don't know," she shook her head finally. "It's all too much to think about."

"Perhaps your subconscious is attempting to tell you something," Annabeth suggested, allowing her sister to stand.

"Don't even start, Annabeth," Rachel sighed. "I'll see you at dinner where I'll be asking Percy whether or not you apologized"

"I'll find him before that," the blonde promised her sister, throwing her grimace.

"Thank you," Rachel grinned. " _Your Highness_."

"Goodbye, _your Highness_ ," Annabeth returned mockingly, unable to resist a smile.

...

"So," Annabeth began without introduction, striding smoothly into the dormitory where Percy was staying. He was at his desk, writing a letter it seemed. At the sight of her, he started, standing quickly. "I hear you think I plan to kill you, Duke."

"Your Highness," Percy greeted with the slightest of bows, his lips tight and jaw jutted. "I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to."

"Duke Jackson," Annabeth sighed, advancing so she was standing before him. "I'm no fool, nor am I a threat to your life."

"Your Highness shot an arrow at my head today," Percy scoffed, finally meeting her eyes. They were sleet green, hard and polished. "Surely, you understand my concern."

"As a matter of fact, I don't," Annabeth replied sweetly, her eyes taking a moment to scan the letter laying half finished on his desk. "I didn't shoot an arrow at your _head_ , I shot it at your _hand_ —the gap between your hand and my sister, to be specific."

Percy rolled his eyes and parted his lips, his head tilting as his tongue turned to form words.

"You might now know me very well, Duke," Annabeth cut him off before he could get anything out. "But I don't miss. I never do, in fact." She smiled simperingly, the faux sweetness crinkling at the corners of her lips. "If I had been aiming for your head, you would be dead."

"What is this then?" Percy interjected. "An apology or a threat?"

"I suppose the former is closer," Annabeth decided slowly. "Though what I have come to deliver is truly more of a statement—a declaration, perhaps."

"And what is that?" Percy sneered, blinking languidly as he stared at her.

"You're not wrong in perceiving me as dangerous," Annabeth revealed, tilting her chin up to attempt to meet his stature. "As I told you at the ball, to those who threaten me or my family, I am indeed _dangerous_." She swallowed, took a deep breath, counted to one, two, _three_ —before watching lungs fill at the suspense. "Consider today, as a gesture of goodwill, I could have very well killed you but I chose not to."

"So?" he pressed.

"I told you I am no danger to you," she clarified, firmly. "Today I have proven you that is true."

"Duly noted," Percy responded, his eyes flickering with apparent boredom. "Is that all?"

"Is it," Annabeth finished. "But I needn't remind you that regardless of your _future_ title, I am still a princess and for the moment, I outrank you. Thus it would do you well to treat me with respect."

He nodded, the muscles of his mouth tightening once again.

"And not to forget my title," Annabeth added, raising an eyebrow at the resultant silence.

"I'm sorry, your Highness," Percy ground out. "I will refrain from causing you any issue in the future."

"That would be greatly appreciated," Annabeth smiled politely, her eyes boring into his. With a flick of her fingers, she called her guards, signaling for them to follow her as she exited the room.

...

Despite her mother's insistence, Annabeth didn't find dinner an especially pressing matter that night. Instead, she spent her night in the library, meticulously taking notes on diplomatic theory. Though she would never be a diplomat herself, Annabeth figured there was no reason for her _not_ to touch up on her persuasion skills. She was nearly halfway through her reading when one of her servants interrupted.

"Your Highness," they bowed, holding a small bundle in their hands. "A package arrived for you."

"Leave it on the table," Annabeth instructed with a small smile, her gaze glued to the parcel. A small smirk touched her lips as her servant neared and the blonde realized what the package contained: a book. "Thank you," she dismissed the servant.

Once they were gone, Annabeth carefully bookmarked the text she'd been examining and set it aside. Slowly but surely, she stood from her chair, moving towards the package. She picked up the letter that accompanied it and recognized the seal almost immediately. It was Sir Nicolas's. She tore open the message, quickly discarding the envelope. It read:

 _Your Highness,_

 _After considerable study, I have located several texts that I believe will be of use to you. Alongside this letter I have attached the only one I was able to obtain quickly, the rest will trickle in over the course of the month at which time I will have them sent to you immediately._

 _I have the honor to be your humble servant,_

 _Sir Nicolas_

Annabeth's eyes hungrily read over the note's contents before turning towards the enclosed book. With a leer, she felt the thick spine through the brown paper that hid the manuscript. Carefully, she stripped away the packaging and flipped through the first few pages, allowing her inquisitive stare to glide over the words.

Annabeth settled back into her chair, the text in her lap. Over the course of the next few hours, she devoured the information the book held. To her dismay, however, it seemed the Jackson's had an incredibly tired story. They had managed to maintain a relatively clean bloodline, disowning those who disrespected their desire to rise up. They were bankers, had gained power through commerce. Atlantis was nothing special. Sure, it was sizable, but there was nothing extraordinary or unique about the miles of fields they owned.

Annabeth deemed the ports were a valuable asset, though. They were one of the only modes of entry and exit from the mainland and they offered a great financial opportunity. Nonetheless, in the book, Annabeth found nothing that would suggest the Jacksons sought revenge or harm on her family.

Had they only poisoned William Dohlov for an opportunity to rule then? To have their only male heir at the center of a strong kingdom?

Annabeth supposed it wasn't a completely ridiculously sentiment. Her mother had always said men sought nothing but power. It was a logical escalation.

Still, something felt off. There was still a puzzle piece missing from the story—Annabeth was sure of it.

It was nearly five in the morning when Annabeth finally shut the book for the night. She could hear the faint chirping of birds outside as she neared one of the many windows that decorated the library's walls. She carefully hid her new volume amongst a bundle of books about archery. No one ever delved into that section except her.

Annabeth sighed as she considered what she'd learned—how _little_ she'd learned, in fact. If she wanted the entire truth, she would have to resort to more ethically contentious methods. As her gray gaze traced the orange halo just beginning to show on the horizon, she wondered if she could get information out of Rachel.

No, she decided with a sharp shake of her head. If Rachel realized anything, Annabeth would lose her closest confidant—her only friend—her only—

No, she wouldn't— _couldn't_ do that.

No, instead she would break into her father's study, she decided. Yes, that would be easy—well, not easy, but easier than losing Rachel, nevertheless.

Yes, she would break into her father's study and if she didn't find anything then, she would drop the issue. She would trust her mother's judgment and forgive but never forget.

By the time Annabeth returned to her room, the morning glow was scarcely kissing the purple twilight. As she lay in bed, her hair intricately woven into braids and her head against a silk pillow, she wondered if Rachel couldn't sleep. She worried her sister would be plagued with nightmares again. She wondered what it could mean. Rachel had always had a rather frightening ability to detect when trouble would enter their little bubble.

Annabeth's eyes fluttered shut, but before the familiar peaceful darkness could overcome her, she found herself stuck back in that dreaded room all those years ago. It all seemed to flash before her very eyes. Her sister laughing in the windowed alcove. A gust of wind. The sudden gleam of steel. Rachel's gasp piercing through the air. A rush of terror.

Annabeth's eyes shot back open. She breathed harshly for one, two, three counts before turning onto her back and counting the wrinkles in her canopy until she was so exhausted she fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

a/n: it's hard to justify why exactly I've been inactive for so long. I just started college and life has felt so incredibly busy. Whenever I had a second of free time, suddenly I feel like there is something I should be doing. So even tho there's really no excuse for not updating for nearly six months, that's my reasoning. Regardless, I'm very very sorry. I realized a while ago that I can't promise frequent and regular updates until summer probably.

Nonetheless, I made a commitment a long time ago in which I promise never to abandon a story as I'd seen so many do before me. So basically, you should expect all these stories to be finished eventually, even if it is in 50 years. In all seriousness, I have finally found a good balance in college and am going to be able to be writing much more which will mean more updates :)))) so basically, thank you all for putting up w me. Hope this chapter is enough to keep yall going for a little longer.

Ciao :)

p.s. sorry if there are errors, its late and i dont want to edit


	7. Chapter 6

_May 1st, 1649_

 _She's crazy._ _The bitch tried to **kill**_ _me._

 _Rachel swears she didn't but, for God's sake, I felt the arrow brush my hair, just barely missing me._

 _She's fucking_ _**insane**_ — _and **arrogant**. _

_—If I'd been aiming for your head you'd be dead—_

 _Who does she think she is? Not only that, but she's wildly interfering with my mission. Everything I hear from Rachel is **Annabeth** this, **Annabeth** that. The girl has been the sole source of my **dilemmas**._

 _Nevertheless, there is something entirely intriguing about the idea of provoking her_ _—it appears to have become my foremost passion these days._

 _Despite all the pain she has caused me, I find myself unable to report back to my advisors in regard to her character. She is troublesome_ _—of course_ _—but that_ _is the most I have told them. I suppose I know they would recommend I dispose of her **permanently**_ _—and while I certainly have no penchant for murder, it isn't something I normally oppose if necessary._

 _Still, there is something about the thought of murdering Annabeth Chase that leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth._

 _I don't deny the princess is mad and clearly too confident in her position, but_ _—there is simply something holding me back._

 _It doesn't matter_ _—_

 _It doesn't_ _—_

 _It_ _—_

 _She is **nothing**_ _—just a **distraction**. _

_I will persevere regardless_ _—besides I rather enjoy tormenting her, so where is the fun in getting rid of her so quickly._

 _Rachel, on the other hand, is much simpler_ _—or perhaps more complex, it's hard to make a clear determination without fully knowing her sister's character. Rachel is kind and caring, but she extends it so innocently and honestly, letting it slip off the tip of her tongue. She gives me every piece of herself, reserving only the humblest of moments for her sister. She is so trusting_ _—so soft_ _—so **naive** that at times I feel guilty. _

_The future she envisions is not the future that is bound to come._ _I will betray her. It is **inevitable**._

 _P.J._

...

The second Annabeth stepped out of bed, she had only one thing on her mind, determining once and for all whether or not the Jackson family had an ulterior motive in marrying into hers. With the arduous help of her attendants, Annabeth quickly slipped into a periwinkle dress before setting foot for her father's study. As she turned the corner and approached the grand door, her father's booming voice came in earshot. Her steps slowed at the sound, slowly approaching the dark wood that had always intimidated and intrigued her as a child.

It was a quarter after eight, why wasn't her father meeting with the council? Something was off—something was wrong—

"Your Highness," one of the guards stationed outside the door greeted her, bowing his head slightly. "Shall I announce your presence to his Majesty?"

Annabeth was silent for a second, tapping her finger once, twice, three times against her waist, feeling the hardened corset beneath her dress.

"Yes," she said finally, knowing her father would hear of her presence if she left and that would surely raise more suspicion than whatever excuse she was going to have to conjure up.

The guard nodded obediently, and in tandem, he and his partner slowly swung open the enormous doors.

"Your Majesty," he announced as she crossed the threshold of the room with careful steps, painting an innocent expression across her features. "Her Highness, Annabeth Chase."

"Yes, yes," her father rolled his eyes at the formalities, looking up from his desk. "I happen to be well aware of my daughter's name and rank."

The corner of Annabeth's lips curled as warmth for her father stroked her chest. Her stare swept the room, taking it in. She was ashamed to admit relief at the confirmation that her mother was not in the room as well.

"Annabeth," the king addressed his daughter, a puzzled look on his face. "Did you need something?"

"I wished to borrow a book," Annabeth revealed, her eyes sparkling as she stared up at him. Even at her rather tall stature, her father towered over her.

"Leave us," he declared suddenly, his eyes averting to meet his guards.

"But—" one seemed to start, before catching himself and lowering his head. The blonde glanced behind her and watched as the two began rearranging themselves into proper formation before turning back towards her father.

"Is that all?" the King asked her, his brow arching.

Annabeth heard the loud clatter of the doors shutting behind her. The sound echoed across the spacious room.

"Of course," the princess simpered. The silence that filled the air between was charged with incredulity. Then "well—" she began.

Her father sighed, sitting back down at his desk and picking up his quill.

"Your mother says you've been getting into trouble," he interrupted her explanation. "And we both know what happened the last time."

"I—" a soft pang echoed across Annabeth's chest, her heart stuttering at the implication. "It's not the same," she replied in an unusually quiet voice.

"What do you really want, Annabeth?" he asked, and something about the sharp syllables hardened the blonde's demeanor, a defensive stiffness setting into her posture.

"A book," Annabeth maintained, "but I'm not sure what you have. I'll have to have a look through your personal library, I suppose."

"Annabeth," her father shook his head. Her lips tightened, tension creeping up her spine. "You are no longer a child. These foolish schemes must end."

"Are you suggesting it is wrong to protect my family?" Annabeth managed, her eyes tracing the hard lines of the walls before drifting to the dozens of rare volumes that decorated the study's shelves.

"You are lucky it is I you are speaking to and not your mother," he warned, the pity in his eyes quickly overtaken by anger. "She has little patience for your instability."

"And so I hear every day," Annabeth assured him, her stare returning to meet his. "Perhaps one day you shall be grateful I am so cautious."

"Perhaps," her father agreed with a sigh, "but, fortunately, today is not that day."

There was a pause as Annabeth continued to flick through the titles with her gaze, and her father watched her careful actions.

"I must leave for my assemblage," he stated finally, a frustrated lilt to his voice. "Don't—" he sighed, the strain in his jaw releasing as he shook his head in defeat.

She inhaled deeply, her eyes freezing on no particular title. She didn't think she could stomach the look in his eyes if she met them. It hurt to breathe. Why did it hurt so much?

"You have five minutes," her father told her sternly, picking himself up and brushing himself off. "At exactly five 'til, my guards will escort you out—forcibly if needed."

"Yes, father," Annabeth agreed primly, still fixed in place.

"Please don't get yourself into more trouble than you already have," he muttered on his way out.

Annabeth said nothing in reply, every muscle in her body suspended in place until silence filled the room once more, leaving her completely and utterly alone.

...

When Annabeth sat down at the dinner table that night her mind was spinning with all that the knowledge—or lack thereof—she had obtained. She considered her findings with pursed lips as she waited for Percy and Rachel to arrive. The rest of her family was already seated, making quiet conversation to pass the time but Annabeth found herself unusually quiet. After scouring her father's library for the limited time she was allotted, she had taken to the library to continue her investigative studies. Much her dismay, however, she found nothing but lucrative trades routes.

Logically, of course, she knew it was probably nothing more. As she had learned, the Jackson's _did_ have an enormous financial incentive in joining their families as they would not only control the largest seaport in the land but also have major say in the quickly evolving trade routes on land. They would become major players in the world of commerce.

Still, something inside her itched for intrigue, wanting more. That couldn't be the end of it. It just _couldn't_.

To kill someone for the sake of a trade route seemed ridiculous. Or perhaps it wasn't _ridiculous_ , simply _ambitious_.

"Are we the last to arrive?" Rachel's voice twinkled, breaking Annabeth from her train of thought. Her gray eyes involuntarily slid to the tall figure standing beside her sister. He was dressed nicely, but his complacent smile was abundantly annoying.

Annabeth had never killed anyone—hoped she never would. Sure, she may have given orders that resulted in a death or two _—_ only when necessary of course _—_ but she had never committed the crime herself.

She wondered if he had—if _he'd_ killed with his bare hands.

"How was your day, Annabeth?" Rachel questioned as she took her seat, her innocent eyes flicking upwards to meet the blonde's.

"Very well," Annabeth answered diplomatically, painting a kind smile across her lips. Not that it was difficult, it never was around her. "And how was yours?"

"Amazing," Rachel sighed warmly, a familiarity in her eyes that made Annabeth reconsider her desire for intrigue. She should simply allow her sister to be happy. That was what she'd requested after all.

And for a second, Annabeth was content. She was able to smile at the thought of providing her sister peace of mind, harmony within her heart—

But then he opened his mouth _—_ the _audacity_.

"Indeed," Percy added. "Rachel and I took lunch in the gardens. The view of the lake is surely the most grand I shall ever witness in my lifetime."

Annabeth was forced to muffled a scoff at the honey-laced statement.

"You are too gracious, Duke," the Queen intercepted, sending Annabeth a pointed look. "I have heard the grounds in Atlantis are beautiful."

Annabeth watched the Duke as he sweet-talked her parents. She wondered if they were truly so dense that they believed him to be honest, or simply willingly ignorant to the truth. Her sister, of course, she could not blame. Her disposition was far too sweet and full of compassion to ever suspect such malice in another human being.

Again, the blonde found herself lingering on the nature of his crimes. His family had ordered another Duke killed in order to secure his position in this family. She was sure of it. It could not be a coincidence that Rachel's fiance was poisoned just days before their families initiated discussions of a treaty.

She wondered if she admired the ambition or simply feared it. She pondered, for a second, what she would have done given the same circumstances. She thought she could have— _would_ have done the same thing had her family been on the line.

Annabeth suddenly felt the heat of a pair eyes on her. The world around her came into focus all at once as she realized she'd been staring. His gaze met hers, a daring, suspicious look dancing across them. Not wanting to be outdone, she shot him a sneer before looking down at her soup.

Perhaps they weren't as different as she had previously believed.

The thought gave Annabeth no peace. In fact, it only worried her more. She knew better than anyone the lengths she would go to in order to ensure her family's safety and success.

...

That night, as the cold air rushed into her room, she felt an odd rush of energy wash over her. She closed her book and stood up from her desk, peering out onto the royal gardens. It looked quite beautiful in the moonlight.

"I think I'll go for a walk," Annabeth announced to her guards, surprising them.

"Your highness," her maid reasoned, "it's too late for a lady of your caliber to be out on the grounds."

"Come with me if you wish," Annabeth told her, slipping on her shawl. "Or I shall be forced to attend alone."

Her maid nodded apprehensively, stepping forward to help the blonde.

In a matter of minutes, Annabeth was outside, wandering across the lightly trodden paths of grass. She felt the crisp breeze graze her bare collarbone, sending chills down her spine. As she paced slowly, her maid trailing behind her, she took advantage of the silence to think.

The castle was never silent—never really, anyway. Even when she found herself alone, her guards were still waiting dutifully outside her door. She could hear them through the rich mahogany sometimes. They spoke of simply nothings, of the weather and family quarrels, but every once in a while, Annabeth caught of a whisper.

Whispers were never good. Whispers were secrets, discussions behind closed doors, information she wasn't privy to. Whispers had always haunted her. She had learned not to trust them.

Annabeth passed a patch of perfectly pruned roses, reaching out her hand to brush her fingertips across the petals. They were soft as silk, delicate as—

She thought back to her conversation with her father. He didn't trust her. No one did it seemed. They trusted her values, her motives, her drive, but they doubted her ability.

Even Rachel, who had always supported her, who had always believed her, even when Annabeth had failed to protect her.

 _We both know what happened last time_.

Her father must have known how those words would affect her. He couldn't think so little of her to believe she had forgotten, to believe she didn't think twice whenever she spoke to someone new. He had watched her struggle, had sat beside her and comforted her as she cried, had hugged her and told her it would all be okay. The man she spoke to—the king she had encountered today—was not the father she remembered, the father she had loved so dearly.

Annabeth remained outside for nearly half an hour longer before caving to her maid's plea for her to come indoors. She was sure to tread as slowly as possible, counting seconds between her elongated footsteps as she made her way back to the castle. Once inside, she quietly navigated the twists and turns of her familiar castle. Her maid seemed to have sensed her desire for silence, for she remained speechless as she followed. Nevertheless, the clash of the guards' steel plates placated her mind, coming together to aggravate her already tormented head.

As they reached the hallway to her dormitory, Annabeth's ears perked at the sound of consonants clashing, of whispers echoing through the corridors. She slowed before coming to a halt at the murmur of her name.

"Wait for me inside," Annabeth indicated softly to her party. They glanced at her with dubious eyes, opening their mouths to object but she cut them off. "I shall enter soon. I require a singular _moment_ to myself."

Her maid was the first to nod and continue forward, having been Annabeth's caretaker for many years. Her guards shared a look between each other but slowly followed, shuffling into her room and closing the doors behind them.

Annabeth took a deep breath, reveling in the strange stillness, but when the whispers crept around the corner for a second time, she began to follow them. She moved down the hallway, her steps light and balanced, careful not to disturb the secrecy.

She was able to make out a few words: _tell me..._ _happened...Rachel..._

Annabeth's heart leaped at her sister's name, pushing her forward. Whispers were never good. Whispers lead to rumors, to lies, to battle.

"Annabeth and I have always been different. Even when we were children, she liked to play soldier, and I liked to play princess." Annabeth heard her sister chuckled and found herself leaning forward. "And then as we grew older, the differences became more pronounced." She paused, longingly almost. "Then one day, she made a friend who would play with her the way I never wanted to, the way I never could.

"But mother did not approve. Of course, she didn't. He was the cook's son for god sake," she began to ramble, speaking more quickly, her voice growing louder. "And Annabeth had always been one to follow the rules, to respect them but—but _that_ day she brought him into the castle despite them and—it's hard to remember," she heard Rachel's voice suddenly go quiet. "It was so long ago. And to this day, there are still things I do not know. Questions I never asked."

"What _do_ you remember?" Annabeth recognized Percy's voice pushing her to continue.

"Screams," Rachel answered. "I remember playing one minute and then—and then everything was chaos. My maid was screaming and everything was red and the guards were shouting and running and—and my sister was silent."

There was a definite hush. Annabeth felt her chest contract around her heart, threatening to crush it, to kill her where she stood.

"I don't think I registered what had happened until days afterward. My parents pulled me aside and tried to explain it to me. They said—they said sometimes even those closest to us couldn't be trusted."

"Did they think—"

"I don't know," Rachel murmured. "But I know my sister, I know what she's capable of, but more importantly, I know that she loves me. I know she didn't know—she _couldn't_ have known."

Annabeth's shallow breaths spilled into the cold air that surrounded her. She stood still, suspended in her sister's words as the whispers slowly disappeared down the corridors.

* * *

a/n: so, I can't begin to apologize for being absent for so long. to be completely honest with you guys, I went thru a really bad break up a few months ago and couldn't find it in myself to read much less write about love—but I'm better now, I promise. And more importantly, now that I'm on a Corona-cation and in self-quarantine, I'll have plenty of time to write so expect updates for my other stories as well.

ciao my peeps

p.s. sorry for being a broken record but thank u guys so much for sticking with me thru this. If yall weren't around I would have lost my passion for writing a long time ago :)


	8. Chapter 7

The next day, Annabeth found herself feeling less like—herself.

She found there was an unfamiliar heaviness weighing her down, a gloom settling around her. It wasn't a mystery where it had come from. She knew hearing Rachel's story had affected her more than she was willing to admit.

Annabeth had decided the night prior, while laying in bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling, that she would allow her sister the space she had requested. Annabeth trusted Rachel, even if Rachel didn't trust her. And so she should trust Rachel in regard to Percy. Even if she didn't wholly approve, she would grant her respect and be civil—respecting the Duke would be a skill she would acquire once they were married.

Yes, she decided. That was enough. She would already be holding herself back, there was no point in completely crushing her fun.

Sometime midday, just as Annabeth was going outside to practice archery, hoping to rid herself of any pent up emotions, her mother called upon her, wishing to speak to her in the royal dormitory. Despite her strong desire to do so, Annabeth could not refuse.

"Annabeth," were her mother's first words upon her entry.

"Yes?" the blonde inquired, painting her expression with a pleasant smile, but the Queen barely looked up. Instead, she continued rustling through several letters piled on her desk.

"Rachel and the Duke's engagement banquet will be held next week, to celebrate this beautiful union."

Annabeth scoffed, and was rewarded with a pointed look from her mother.

"You will be on your best behavior, won't you?" the Queen breathed, sounding exasperated. She had paused her previous tasks to watch Annabeth with narrowed eyes.

"Of course, mother," Annabeth replied with a sigh, her eyes drifting to the extraordinarily adorned canopy bed to her right.

"Good," her mother nodded. "And don't think I didn't hear about the incident in the gardens," she snapped, standing up suddenly.

"It was an accident," Annabeth lied, though the attempt was weak. "It won't happen again," she added as she met her mother's sharp gaze.

"Correct. It shall not," the Queen asserted. "There will be dozens of dignitaries in attendance. Do not embarrass this family with your feeble attempts at detective work."

"I have no plans of embarrassing the family," Annabeth breathed through gritted teeth, "nor have I ever in the past. I only ever wanted to protect Rachel."

"Mhm," her mother hummed, disbelieving. She turned back and paced to her desk before taking a seat, careful to cross her ankles. "I have had your gown prepared in advance. It will be delivered to your quarters tonight."

"Is that all?" Annabeth asked after a period of silence.

"Yes," the Queen stated simply.

"Thank you," the blonde bowed her head before turning to exit.

"Remember your place, Annabeth," her mom called out to her before she was able to reach the doors.

Annabeth's hands hovered at her sides, her fingers twitching into fists as she dug her nails into her palms. She took a deep breath, her footsteps faltering as she considered returning a comment—No.

She was holding herself back. She had self-control. She would not be the child they clearly thought she was. It wasn't worth it— _this_ wasn't worth it.

Annabeth was done talking. Until she had evidence and documentation of wrongdoing, she wouldn't bother her family with her _detective_ _work_ _._

...

Upon exiting her mother's room, she ran into Rachel in the hallway. She was wearing a deep teal dress and her red curls were loose and wild. The sight reminded Annabeth of when they were younger, of childlike innocence that had been robbed from them.

Rachel's everpresent smile widened at the sight of her sister.

"Annabeth!" she called excitedly, rushing towards her. Her guards clambered behind her, trying to keep up.

"Rachel," Annabeth returned the sweet expression. She loved seeing her sister so carefree. It suited her.

"Did you hear?" Rachel questioned eagerly, taking Annabeth's hands in her own. She was shaking in animation. "My engagement banquet is just a week away!"

"So I hear," Annabeth laughed. "I must admit," she stated, having now committed to her new motto. Rachel's happiness wasn't worth ruining over a suspicion, "I was worried about Percy, at first." His name was bile against her tongue. It felt sickening and foreign and unknown and exciting and—

"But now?" Rachel hid a hopeful expression behind tight lips.

"I believe I was worried for nothing," Annabeth revealed.

Rachel squealed, squeezing her sister's hands with fervor.

"He's been nothing but perfect," Annabeth continued. "And I wouldn't expect anything less from your fiance."

"I can barely say the word without—without—" Rachel's chest swelled, her voice permeating with enthusiasm. "It's a dream come true. I never—I never thought this could happen for me. I thought it was wishful thinking, but maybe not."

"See," Annabeth grinned. Her heart hurt at the sight of her sister almost in tears with excitement. "Even princesses get happily ever afters."

"Oh, Annabeth," Rachel sighed. "If only I could see you this happy."

"I will be," blonde assured her, drawing her close. "One day. Once Luke and I are married, we will both be perfectly content."

If her sister detected any doubt in her words she didn't show it.

"I must go," Rachel breathed, her smile never leaving her lips even as she spoke. "Mother has laid out several gowns for me to choose from!"

"Go then," Annabeth laughed, pushing her sister in the direction of her room. "Go!" she insisted again when Rachel didn't move.

"Let's take a walk tonight—" Rachel began before pausing. "Wait no, I promised Percy—"

"Tomorrow," Annabeth said quickly, shooing her away. "I'll see you then."

Her sister beamed at the blonde before skipping off to try on her many engagement dresses. Annabeth watched as she leaped down the hallway, the bounce never leaving her step. She wondered how someone so pure could have grown up in this castle. The kingdom would never meet a kinder Queen than Queen Rachel, Annabeth had no doubt about it.

...

Annabeth tried her best to put the impending banquet out of her head. Instead, she resolved to think of the future, tried to remember that one day she would have a voice in issues that actually _mattered_. Her train of thought inevitably brought her back to the library, with a new purpose this time.

If her sister would not listen to her about Percy, surely, she would listen to her when it came to policy and strategy. That would be her focus for the future—until Percy inevitably made an irrevocable mistake, of course.

Annabeth stepped into the enormous, spacious room lined with books and felt an odd calm rush over her. She was peaceful here. It was always the same, always a safe space, no matter the circumstances.

Her gaze traced the expanse of titles, mentally ticking off the titles she'd already covered. She felt a sort of foolish freedom as she noticed one she hadn't read. She stepped onto her tiptoes and wrapped her fingers around the rough leather, tugging it off the shelf. It fell into her arms, the thick pages shifting at the movement. She smiled before continuing along her usual path, collecting any works that caught her eye.

She was nearly ready, requiring only one more volume before taking her usual seat in the corner of the great room. She held all the usual topics, but something unusual snagged her attention. The book was positioned at eyesight, hastily placed on the shelf. It was a beautiful mix of gold and royal blue that Annabeth recognized immediately as the title Rachel always read before bed. She wondered why it was here. Had she returned it?

Annabeth picked the book up on the shelf and attempted to flip through it but found herself unable to complete the task while holding a stack of books in her other arm. She could practically feel her servant who she'd asked to wait by the door itching to help. Rather than trying again and making a scene, Annabeth piled the work on top of her others and made her way to her preferred reading spot.

Once she was seated, she reached for Rachel's favorite. It was surprisingly short. Annabeth wondered how many times Rachel had managed to read it. She must have it memorized after so many years. She had just turned the first page when she heard the loud boom of the library doors opening. She glanced up from the volume, surprised to see anyone else reading so late.

Her surprise quickly turned to annoyance at the sight of the entrant.

"Your Highness," Percy greeted with a smirk as his gaze caught hers. "Rachel wasn't exaggerating when she said you practically live in here."

"And how would you—" Annabeth caught herself, snapping her mouth shut, remembering the promise she'd made to be cordial with her sister's fiance. "I like to read," she declared finally.

It was neutral. Not nice, not rude, not—anything really, just a fact.

"Never would have thought you a romantic," he grinned, nodding towards the book in her hands.

She tried to decode his tone, unsure whether it was meant mockingly.

"Venomous character and all—"

Yes, mocking. Definitely mocking.

"Watch your tongue, Duke," Annabeth cut him off. She had promised to be nice, not to allow him to insult her. "I would be careful to assume anything when it comes to your future sister in law."

"So we're family now," Percy mused with a smirk. He sauntered towards her but stopped a few feet short, examining the titles on the shelf to her left. "I haven't seen you in a few days. And just when I was beginning to tolerate your presence."

"Hm," Annabeth hummed sweetly, painting a smile on her face. He was trying to get a rise out of her. There could be no other reason for him to speak to her so frankly.

"Does this mean you've given up your crusade against me?" Percy asked, reaching for a book. Annabeth strained her eyes, noting it was a work on philosophy.

"And what if I have?" she answered impartially, flipping a page in her book even though they both knew she wasn't reading.

"Then you wouldn't be the princess I've heard so much about, after all," he condemned.

Annabeth fingers tightened around the bound leather, her breath faltering in her chest.

She couldn't stand it anymore. She slammed her book shut, setting it down next to her. If she'd looked up, she might have seen his smile only widen at her action. But she could barely register the room around her as she felt a familiar fire erupt blaze her.

"And _who_ has been supplying you with such vivid and exciting descriptions of me," Annabeth questioned, standing up to face him. She was struck for a second by how tall he was standing before her now. She wondered how she hadn't noticed before when they'd danced. Nevertheless, she stood her ground, stepping onto her tiptoes below her dress.

"Oh," Percy feigned a puzzled look, the volume he'd chosen settling in the curve of his arm. "Just friends here and there, passing acquaintances."

"And you trust them to provide you a fair picture," Annabeth pressed, stepping towards him.

"They have so far," he disclosed, his dark messy hair shading his roguish eyes. His grin was far too wide for the blonde's liking.

Annabeth scoffed loudly, unable to control the urge to roll her eyes. "I still don't trust you," the blonde told him directly, narrowing her eyes at him as he attempted to look perfectly oblivious to her implication. "But I trust my sister, and I know she is stronger than to let you destroy her."

"Powerful words," Percy smiled mockingly at the sentiment, putting his hand over his heart as he took another step towards her. They were nearly a foot away from each other now. "And, if I may, why, dear sister-in-law, don't you trust me?"

"I thought it obvious," Annabeth laughed, holding her chin up high, meeting his gaze if only to watch his reaction to her words. "I know what you did."

"How dreadfully ominous," Percy blinked, looking perfectly unamused. "Do you always speak in riddles?"

"Must be all the reading," Annabeth suggested lightly. She was forced to crane her neck up to look him in the eyes. She watched them crinkle at the corners at her words and felt oddly accomplished. Before she had to consider where exactly the feeling stemmed from, he was taking another step closer.

"Whatever could you be referring to?" Percy wondered out loud. "Duke Dohlov's death, perhaps?"

Annabeth concealed her shock at his candor. He clearly meant to intimidate her. His size and proximity were evidence enough of that, but he had a strong presence about him. Something about his stance that felt powerful and contentious and combative and— _exciting._

She merely nodded, feeling her heart race incredibly unfairly at the suggestion. Her eyes carefully trained on him, not willing to be the first to lose.

"His death was not at my hands," he mocked offense, though the curve of his suggested something else entirely. "In fact, I am insulted at the insinuation."

"I'm certain you are," Annabeth breathed, unsure what to say next, caught off-guard by his near admission to the murder of another Duke.

"I must say," Percy continued, cautious not to break their gaze. "I am extraordinarily excited to meet his suitor of yours. I can only wonder who your parents have convinced to marry you."

"I hope you won't be here long enough to meet him," Annabeth retorted with a stiff smile. The mention of Luke had spiked something in her brain, something that sensed danger at the realization that the young Duke clearly knew more about her than he was letting on. "He's in Andalucia until further notice," she added, attempting to look as confident as possible, hoping he would retire the subject. She did not need another incentive to begin contention—his mere face was more than enough.

"Oh," Percy paused, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "Haven't you heard." Her heart halted, waiting as she felt his words wash over her. "He's been invited to the engagement party. Odd that he didn't tell you."

Percy smirked, cocking his head slightly to the side as he examined her expression. She knew he'd caught her momentary delay.

"I'm sure it was meant to be a pleasant surprise," Annabeth attempted, recovering quickly from the shocking revelation. "Pity you had to ruin it."

Luke was returning. He was returning and _no one_ had thought to inform her—not her mother, not her sister, not her soon-to-be _fiance._

"Tragic, really," Percy lamented with a malicious simper, finally breaking their eye contact to look her up and down venomously. "I suppose I'll have to find another way to surprise you then, won't I?"

"Goodnight, Duke," Annabeth dismissed harshly. She turned her back on him, swallowing thickly as she made her way back to her chair and sat down.

"Goodnight, your highness," he returned with a bow of his head.

Annabeth picked back up her book and began flipping through it, pretending not to notice as he turned and exited the room without another word.

Even after he'd left, the clicking of his heels, the timbre of his voice, the meaning behind his words, all seemed to echo in the room around her. And just like that, her safe space felt trespassed by his very presence.

He was—he was—

She groaned loudly at the realization, calling for her servant to gather the books and take them back to her bedroom. At least _that_ was still safe.

* * *

a/n: lots more to come (hopefully)

love yall

p.s. promise to work on treason soon, just want to get ahead of this and FB

p.p.s. did not edit, be kind to me. ill do it l8r


	9. Chapter 8

Annabeth had never found Luke's presence particularly offensive. She had never found herself bothered or aggravated by his company. Perhaps that was why she had never been troubled by the idea of marrying him—bored maybe, but never troubled.

They had been betrothed since before she could remember. They had met when she was only six and he twelve.

She remembered being struck by his height. She was forced to crane her head back just to meet his gaze. Then, she recalled catching his icy blue eyes, so similar to her own. She had stepped forward with a curtsy, feeling every pair of eyes boring into her, waiting for her to make a mistake.

She had felt her heart pound in of her chest and wondered if it was love at first sight. She questioned if she had always known it was just an illusion, anxiety wrapped with a pretty pink bow.

Annabeth calmed her tapping fingers, tucking them into one another and placing them delicately at the bow of her gown.

Not anxiety—not anymore—just _impatience_.

"How does one convince the guards to announce their arrival if they haven't even _arrived_?" Annabeth complained to her mother through gritted teeth.

"Quiet," her mother chided. "He'll be here any minute."

Annabeth rolled her eyes before narrowing them but as far as her eye could see, there was no one. No carriage, no horses, no—

"I see I'm not too late." She heard a familiar voice behind her, her clasped fingers tightening.

"No," she felt spill from her pursed lips.

He turned to her, an amused curve to his mouth. She struggled to match the expression with something akin to refinement.

In the cold silence, her eyes couldn't help but catch on the rosy warmth of his lips, his misty breath spilling into the chilly morning air. Careful to keep her eyes directed elsewhere, she observed him out of her peripheral. Watched as his tongue darted out, pulling his lower lip into his mouth to warm it. Saw his smile widen. Followed as his lips parted, something on the tip of his tongue.

"Duke," Annabeth's mother suddenly cut in, a polite smile painting her face. "So nice of you to join us for Duke Castellan's return, but you really needn't."

"Yes," Annabeth chimed, tilting her head just slightly so that her words wouldn't be lost in the morning wind. "You _really_ needn't."

Her tone was polite enough, but her comment was nevertheless rewarded with a glare from the Queen.

Percy only smiled. "Please, your Majesty," he simpered, ignoring Annabeth altogether. "It would be unsuitably rude not to greet one of our wedding guests."

Annabeth exhaled sharply, but the movement was so minuscule she was sure no one noticed.

"Especially one who I hope to make my _close_ acquaintance," he added.

"Of course," Annabeth's mother nodded, then she smiled softly, demurely— _submissively_. And Annabeth was sure she'd drawn blood given how tightly she was biting her tongue. "Excuse me," the queen then said after a moment of silence, stepping forward to approach a servant who called for her.

"Your Majesty," Percy bowed his head as the queen left.

Then it was just the two of them—surrounded by servants and guards, of course—and the crisp morningtide.

"You look tense," Percy remarked quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the castle gates.

"I find it difficult to relax in the presence of those who I—"

"Loathe?" he cut in, his voice oddly thoughtful.

"—do not trust," Annabeth finished. "Though I suppose loathe is not too far off."

"Hm," he hummed simply.

"Where's Rachel?" Annabeth inquired.

"Sleeping," Percy responded easily.

"Sleeping?" Annabeth repeated, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, concern slipping into her words. "So late? It's nearly eight in the morning."

"Yes," Percy responded. "She has found herself troubled with nightmares as of late."

Annabeth swallowed thickly, clicking her jaw and pushing back an urge to argue. She could just barely make out the shape of a carriage amongst the fog of the hills. She wondered if she was just imaging the sight.

"I hope she feels better soon," the blonde.

"Duke Castellan," Percy began as the booming carriage fully materialized, dark horses slowly approaching. "What is he like?"

"Blonde," Annabeth answered quickly, surprised by the sneer that erupted from Percy in response.

"Is that all?" he scoffed. "Not one to spout grand compliments in regard to your betrothed then?"

"I'm sure his character will become clear," Annabeth smiled charmingly. She could feel the ground shake beneath them as the horses neared. She pulled her shawl a tighter around her shoulders.

She heard the queen's voice call for the guards to prepare. She watched as Percy's hands twitched restlessly at his sides.

Annabeth closed her eyes, took a deep breath, listening to the whistling wind as the guards shifted around her, forming parallel lines. She opened her eyes, painting a lovely smile across the curve of her lips.

She remained silent as the bustling came to a stop, as the coachman stepped down, as the door slowly opened revealing Luke's face. Even as he grinned broadly at the sight of her, accepting his coachman's assistance as he stepped out of his ornate carriage, she remained quiet, wearing a simple, pleasant smile.

"Your Majesty," he greeted first, bowing before the queen.

"Duke," she replied with a smile. She had always liked him—but hadn't everyone.

"Your Highness," he bowed, turning to address Annabeth. "The morning air does your beauty wonders. I have never seen you more radiant."

"Luke," Annabeth replied, fighting to urge to roll her eyes at the compliment. She felt an unfamiliar heat brush her ears, spreading swiftly to her cheeks.

"And," he finished finally, turning to Percy. "You must be the Duke I have heard so much about."

"I look forward to making your acquaintance," Percy bowed. "It is my belief we will make excellent friends."

"I am sure we shall," Luke agreed with a grin.

...

Annabeth wasn't sure what she had expected when Percy had announced that Luke was returning, but it definitely hadn't been this.

"Are you feeling alright?" Annabeth asked her sister who stood beside her, smoothing her skirt.

Rachel looked up with wide emerald eyes. "Oh," she said, then took a moment to think. "Yes," she answered finally, tilting her head inquisitively. "Why do you ask?"

"Percy mentioned you haven't been sleeping well," Annabeth explained, her eyes trained on her sister with attention.

"Oh," Rachel repeated, a soft giggle bubbling out of her. "I had no idea he was so worried," she remarked with a distant gaze.

"Yes," Annabeth pressed, "as am I. Are you sure you're alright?"

She received no answer.

"Rachel?" Annabeth persisted, urgency washing over her expression.

"Yes," Rachel replied, turning to her sister. The blonde's tone having broken her from her seeming trance. "I assure you, I am perfectly fine. I have simply been plagued with nightmares as of late. It must be a symptom of the stress of the engagement."

"If the engagement is so stressful—" Annabeth began.

"No, no," Rachel insisted. "It's not Percy. The engagement itself has been so long and so entirely full of tedious tasks—"

"I was going to offer to help," Annabeth interjected with a lopsided smile. Surprise seemed to sweep over Rachel's features, making Annabeth feel ridiculously guilty. "If there's anything I can do to ease the burden, I would be happy to assist you." She continued. "Afterall, there are only so many books I can read before boring even myself."

"Oh, Annabeth," Rachel looked overjoyed, her eyes crinkling delightfully at the corners as she wrapped her arms warmly around her sister. "I cannot thank you enough."

"There's no need," Annabeth assured her sister, stunned by her overflowing reaction. "You're my sister. You can come to me with anything."

Rachel grinned, her teeth just barely peeking out from her stained lips, and the expression was so honest and natural and genuine and _good_ that Annabeth felt a sudden urge to cry.

"Oh, here they come!" Rachel exclaimed abruptly, snapping Annabeth from her mood—something she was eternally grateful for when she saw who was approaching.

It was Luke, and he was laughing, his lips split into a wide, toothy grin. The image mixed with Rachel's contagious enthusiasm evoked a great wave of nostalgia. She couldn't help but beam in return. Then she saw who was entering next to him, eliciting the apparent delight—Percy.

He was walking— _sauntering_ , really—with such an undeserved self-confidence that the smile immediately fell from Annabeth's face.

Glancing away from Luke, his green eyes seemed to search the room, finding hers. He smirked before turning back towards Luke.

"Indeed, Luke," he said. It was a seemingly innocent comment that ended their conversation, but Annabeth was sure he'd done simply to prove they were on a first-name basis.

He was being ridiculous.

 _Ridiculous_.

Annabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she stepped forward, sliding the flat of her tongue across her teeth before fixing her features into a pleasant smile to greet Luke.

"Luke," she said sweetly. "Shall we go," she pressed, "I'm famished."

"Of course, your Highness," he agreed, offering his arm which she quickly took before escorting her down the hallway to dinner.

Whatever _this_ was—friendship, manipulation—it didn't matter.

She hated it, Annabeth decided as she sat across the dining table from Percy who continued to amicably chat with Luke.

Their conversation had begun with general niceties regarding their respective estates, moving quickly to the struggles of governing over farmland, finishing where they were now: discussing the intricacies of learning to lead.

Surely, Luke knew he would never have anyone to lead—even if they _did_ marry.

"Rachel," Annabeth called to her sister, sliding her remark in between the quick retort of the two Dukes. "How is... your veal?" she questioned, unable to think of anything else to say at the moment.

"Exquisite," Rachel replied with a broad smile. "And how is yours."

"Good," Annabeth retorted plainly.

She blinked dumbly. A silence fell between them.

"I found your book," Annabeth offered quickly, eager for something to focus on other than the nauseating friendship blossoming right before her.

Rachel's eyebrows rose. "Which book?" she asked, reaching for a sip of her wine.

"The romance one," Annabeth informed. A flash of recognition lit up across Rachel's jade eyes. "I have never seen you without it. I had always thought it attached to you," Annabeth chuckled softly. "When did you return it?"

"Quite recently," Rachel explained. "I have always loved it—I still do." She sighed. "But it seemed selfish of me to keep it to myself when I am living my own fairytale"

Annabeth blinked again, finding herself unusually stunned for the second time. She parted her lips finally but was beat to it.

"Oh Annabeth," her sister hummed. "You simply _must_ read it. You are always going on and on about those books concerning battle and gore—it might serve as a break from all that bloodshed."

Again, Annabeth had barely formed her thoughts before she was cut off.

"Still reading the same titles," Luke grinned at her. He turned back towards Percy. "My betrothed has always had an unnatural fascination with blood and carnage."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Percy countered, his eyes flickering toward her. She ignored his comment, but she couldn't ignore the confused look that Luke shot her.

"Yes," Annabeth turned towards Luke, licking her lips and tasting wine. "I must be prepared. One never knows what they will encounter in this lifetime."

Luke opened his mouth to answer but Percy cut him off—"Indeed"—and she watched the blond Duke's fists tightened beneath the table, curling around the stiff fabric of his pants.

Annabeth felt her a tug at the corner of her lips but ignored the urge. He hated being interrupted.

...

Later that evening, having finally found a moment away from Luke, Annabeth found herself standing on the balcony attached to the ballroom. The doors were shut behind her but she could still hear Luke and her parents' boisterous laughter.

The fresh air flooded her lungs, washing over her with a strange stillness. She wondered if Percy and Luke's amicable relationship wasn't a good thing. If the Duke truly did become King alongside Rachel, a close friendship would certainly draw Luke in. Perhaps then, he would stay in the kingdom rather than venture back to his lands while she remained.

But—she pondered—was that what she wanted. She would marry him, of course. It was arranged, it was as it had always been—but did she _want_ him to come back? To remain with her?

If the night was any indication of her future, she feared her restraint might fail her. It was beginning to dwindle—and perhaps it was the wine that Annabeth had downed in order to stomach the company, or perhaps she was simply at her wit's end—but Annabeth feared, she would do something rash—and she would do it soon.

After all, was it so much to ask for just a moment alone?

"You could make your distaste a bit less obvious."

Apparently it was.

Annabeth turned quickly on her heels, her skirt rustling against the stone railing. She hadn't heard the door, but before her stood the seeming bane of her existence. She fixed her posture, straightening up and meeting his eyes before addressing his comment.

"Oh," the blonde remarked plainly, feeling the cool air tickle her curls as she spoke. "I thought I was being rather subtle."

"Must you always be so clever, Annabeth?" Percy smirked because he knew—he _knew_ that the second her Christian name left his mouth, it would erupt something inside of her, a fire, a flame, a blazing inferno.

"You," Annabeth hissed sharply, any consideration for her perfect posture having left her as she took a step forward, propelling towards him, "would be careful not to forget yourself, Duke." She glared at him, feeling her anger only grow at his lack of response. "You are but a guest in this kingdom—"

"And soon," Percy interrupted, leaving Annabeth breathless, her lips parted, her chest heaving against the frills of her bust, " _you_ will be the guest," he countered.

He bore down on her with such intensity she could barely stand it. She tried to swallow but found it unusually difficult. It was probably the cold—it _had_ to be the cold.

"You are always thinking, reading, planning," Percy mused, stepping away from her to lean against a pillar next to the door, looking out onto the gardens. "You're a smart girl, you must have considered the likely future."

She said nothing, didn't move a muscle, didn't dare even breathe.

"Rachel and I will marry and _this_ ," he gestured gracefully to the surrounding lands, "will all be _mine._ "

Annabeth inhaled, deliberately, slowly—the tips of her fingers digging into the fabric at the waist of her dress, gripping onto something— _anything_ to hold onto.

"Don't be naive," she managed finally, her voice soft but sure. "You will never be king until my father has relinquished right to rule."

"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully, pushing himself off the wall and taking another step towards her before ceasing, but Annabeth didn't move, she didn't bend, she didn't break. "That could be sooner than any of us think."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Annabeth demanded suddenly, feeling something toxic and vile pooling in her stomach. This wasn't exciting. Not anymore. No— _no,_ it had never been. It was— _dangerous_.

Annabeth stared at him with frenzied eyes as silence descended upon them.

"I have warned you once," she cautioned, narrowing her eyes, "and I will warn you again."

Annabeth paused to take breathe. It was just a second, a moment, a single tick of the smallest hand on the clock, but she knew it was a mistake.

"Tread very carefully," she began as he crept towards her, his steps long and languid, his movements graceful and elegant. "If you are implying when I believe, then it—"

He was nearly a foot away from her now—no, less, he was just inches from her—

"Treason?" he uttered, softly— _carelessly._

And suddenly Annabeth's breath caught in her throat—and her chest went rigid—and edges of her dress felt aggressively abrasive—and she could feel the railing digging into her back, trapping her, caging her in—and suddenly she couldn't breathe—and she couldn't _breathe_ —why couldn't she breathe?—

"God, no," Percy smirked, lifting a hand up to brush away a curl that had fallen from her neat updo.

She resisted the urge to jerk away, silent and still as his hand neared. But he didn't touch her, of course, he didn't touch her. He knew better didn't he. He always knew when to stop.

"I would never be so rash."

"Then what, pray tell," she pressed venomously, " _are_ you implying, Duke?"

"I am simply observing," he hummed, "as you did yourself, that one never knows what they will encounter during this lifetime."

His words were quiet, barely a whisper. Had he not been so close, they would have surely been lost in the wind.

She licked her lips.

He blinked.

"Luke is an exceptional man," he said suddenly, averting his eyes.

She was dizzy. She had had too much wine.

"You appear to have become fast friends," Annabeth allowed, pressing her backside into the railing. She knew it was dangerous. She knew she could fall, but she didn't care—she didn't _care_. She would have done anything to get away from him, to put some semblance of distance between them, to recover her customs—

He was still so close— _too_ close.

"Such a trusting man," Percy continued. "I have learned so much—"

"As has he, I'm sure," Annabeth interjected.

Percy shifted, slanting his head to meet her eyes again, the blue-green stained with a guarded glint.

"Worried I'll speak ill of you to your betrothed?" he suggested lazily, the words leaving him with _—_ with something she couldn't quite place.

"No," Annabeth scoffed. "Luke and I are very close. He tells me everything." She informed reasonably, each syllable slow and deliberate.

The breeze blew a ringlet of hers back into her eyes. His gaze caught on the golden curl. She was still, praying he wouldn't reach for it. Or _perhaps_ —no, no, no, _no_ —

He didn't.

"Hm," Percy reflected. "Is that why he does not refer to you by your Christian name?"

"I—" Annabeth found herself caught off guard, her mouth slightly agape at the question. "He's respectful," she fired back.

"Respectful," he repeated rapidly, his expression unreadable. "How romantic."

"I think you find his company very refreshing," Annabeth defended impassively, "inspiring, even."

And then—silence, again.

And she was much too aware of the way her corset was digging into her ribs, and the feeling pooling at the bottom of her stomach, the heat pooling at the bottom of her stomach it was—it was unfamiliar, it was fascinating, it was _intoxicating_ —no, no, no, no—

The wine. She would never drink wine again.

And then he moved.

It was just a step, a half step even, but it triggered something inside her, calling to some rational part of Annabeth's mind that was begging her to run, to sprint, to go back inside and forget the violent turning of her stomach.

It was not okay—this was not okay— _she_ was not okay.

"Speaking of company," she managed to choke out, the sound of her own confident voice surprising even her. "I'm sure they are missing ours." She made to step around him and nearly succeeded but he caught her wrist—just barely.

She could help but gasp at the action, stopping in her tracks. Her eyes snapped back to him to catch him staring intently where his fingers wrapped cautiously around her delicate joint.

She watched him swallow, traced the jagged movement with her gaze. Before he turned to her with hardened eyes, dropping her arm.

"You have been so kind as to warn me, and so I will return the favor," he murmured, a deadly undertone to his words. "I am not one to play games with, Princess,"

Annabeth's breathed shallowly.

But something about the way he spoke was so—so planned, so orchestrated, so astonishingly, tragically _normal_ to her, that she suddenly knew. She knew who she was, she knew what to do, what to say, how to say it—

"And I am not one to surrender to threats," Annabeth replied boldly, confidently, _assuredly_. "Especially yours."

"We'll see," he said simply, stepping around her and returning to the ballroom without another word.

Annabeth watched earnestly before stepping forward herself, her fingers lingering for a second at the door handle. She took a deep breath and returned to the festivities, to her friends, to her _family_ —her skin still burning where he'd touched her.

* * *

a/n: haven't revised, so pls go easy on me. will edit later, just want to post post post

c ya soooon


	10. Chapter 9

_May 7th, 1649_

 _I am utterly perplexed by my own response to her._

 _She threatens me, and I find it— **captivating**. _

_I have never felt such a strong yearning to understand so_ _meone._

 _There is something volatile, violent, and **explosive** inside of her craving to be set free._

 _Everyone around appears to afflicted with a thorough disregard for her abilities._ _They are fools._ _Though, I suppose they have been forced to endure her overbearing presence for years. She is exceptionally annoying, after all._

 _But last night, I watched her. I am **always** watching her. I have watched her friends, her family, her __**fiance**_ _overlook her, but I did not._

 _I watched as she struggled, as she grew more and more exasperated. It was a miracle no one else noticed_ _. They did not notice as she blinked slowly_ _—or when her jaw tensed_ _—or when her fingers began twitching as she reached for her wine._

 _I shouldn't have followed her. I **shouldn't** have._

 _But there was something uniquely **fascinating** about the way she excused herself so demurely before slipping away, closing the doors gently behind her. And just like that, they all forgot about her_ _—_ _conversation carried on, animations prevailed_ _—_

 _I shouldn't have followed her. It was stupid. It was reckless. It was **dangerous.**_

 _She barely reacted. She is so good at that. At hiding what she is thinking, at wearing a face of indifference. But I've spent the last week watching her, cataloging her little movements, her quirks engrained into the back of my mind._

 _I noticed what no one else did. I watched_ _the skin between her eyes just barely crinkle, noted the pulse at the bottom of her throat, detected her ever-present regal facade just barely falter._

 _Then outside, I saw it too._

 _Outside_ _—_

 _God, I have been so reckless. I should never have followed her_ _—_

 _but if I hadn't, would I have noticed?_

 _Would I have noticed the way her breath caught when I touched her, the way her eyes narrowed and stormed at the inkling of a challenge, the renewed confidence with which she carried herself at the mention of a threat_ _—_

 _And then, she leaned in._

 _I saw it. I'm sure of it. It was a shifting of weight, barely a movement, but I **saw** it._

 _However—_

 _I must write to my sponsors soon. They will wonder how far along I am. I must not become distracted—I will not allow myself to be distracted._

 _But her betrothed_ _—_

 _or her fiance, or her suitor, or whatever she wants to call him_ _—is an **idiot**. _

_He has no idea what he's dealing with, **who** he's dealing with. __He is so naive, and yet_ _she appears surprisingly unbothered by my connection with him._

 _I wonder if she knows how he speaks of her behind closed doors. Would she think differently of him if she knew he'd wanted to_ _—what was it he said_ _—fuck her into submission?_

 _And he'd had the audacity to laugh. She_ _—_

 _It doesn't matter, she's a **distraction**._

 _My work here has progressed brilliantly, everyone will be pleased. Soon, it will all be_ our _s—everything that we were promised will be fulfilled—_

 _I wonder if—no._

 _ **Enough**._

 _Besides, after I'm done with Rachel. She will want nothing to do with me_ _—that much is certain._

 _P.J._

...

"Is everything alright, Annabeth?" Luke questioned, staring intently at her face.

Annabeth said nothing, her mouth clamped shut as she considered the events that had unfolded just an evening ago.

Because no, she wasn't _alright_. It wasn't _alright_ that her stomach was still turning from her conversation with her sister's fiance. It wasn't _alright_ that he had practically threatened to murder her father, to commit _treason_. It wasn't _alright_ that she could still feel where his fingers had brushed the inside of her wrist.

No, she wasn't _alright_. _Nothing_ was _alright_.

"Annabeth," Luke repeated, furrowing his brow.

"I—I'm fine," she said quickly, putting on a smile. "I just need a bit of fresh air. I have been feeling a bit under the weather today."

"By all means," Luke nodded. "Would your highness like to join me for a walk?" he asked with a lopsided grin, holding out his arm.

Annabeth felt an odd retching sensation in her stomach at the sight of the expression. She stared at his outstretched arm, trying to determine the origin of the unpleasant feeling.

"Um," she swallowed. "Yes, that sounds lovely."

How was Annabeth to know that Luke led her around the corner, they would run into her least favorite couple—well, her least favorite Duke next to her favorite sister.

The blonde felt her heart drop into her stomach, an unfamiliar pressure in her chest at the sight of him. She wondered if she were still feeling sick from the excess of wine, or perhaps it was the—

"Annabeth!" Rachel exclaimed excitedly at the sight of her.

"Rachel—" Annabeth began before being cut off by her sister's animated ramblings.

"I have been searching for you all morning," she told breathlessly, "I went to the library and your dormitory and even the—it doesn't matter. Last night—"

Rachel paused, breathed.

Annabeth's heart dropped, her mouth opened to protest.

Rachel licked her lips before resuming, a smile still dancing on her face.

"—you mentioned that you wanted to help with—with our engagement," Rachel continued, wholly oblivious to the fear that had shot through the blonde. "And I have just the task for you. Could you come to my bedroom later this evening?"

Annabeth reprimanded herself for fearing the worst. What did she have to fear in the first place? Her interaction with Percy was indifferent at best, hostile at worst. Everything had been perfectly proper. He hadn't even touched her—well—no, everything had been proper. She had nothing to worry about—but then what why did she feel a rotten abyss of guilt eating away at her.

"Oh," Annabeth replied slowly. "Of course."

"Perfect," Rachel beamed, before glancing back and force between Annabeth and Luke. "Where are you two off to?" she asked.

"Taking a walk," Luke answered quickly, a slow languid smile spreading across his lips. "Its a splendid day out, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes," Rachel hummed. "I could barely believe the sight when I awoke. I was sure I was still dreaming."

"Hm," Annabeth agreed softly, trying to no avail to subtly budge Luke.

"Shall we join them, dear?" Rachel questioned, her eyes full of innocence and wonder.

 _No, no, no_ —

"I suppose I cannot decline," Percy replied.

Annabeth had been doing her very best to avoid all eye contact with him but thought it incredibly rude not to address at him as he spoke. She shifted her eyes in his direction only to find him staring at her. She felt her throat go dry, and she sensed a sudden lurch in her stomach.

"The day is _splendid_ , after all."

She could barely find it in herself to breathe.

...

By the end of the day, Annabeth was exhausted. Despite discovering very little motivation to see her sister and discuss the pleasantries of her wedding to the devil in duke form, she supposed it would give her an excuse to get away from Luke who had insisted on spending every second of the day at her side. She had even tried to visit the library for some peace and quiet only to have him insist on accompanying her and criticizing her choice of titles so harshly she left without a single book to add to her collection.

With this in mind, Annabeth picked herself up with a sigh and trudged down the corridor towards her sister's dormitory.

She had been forced to spend the entire afternoon in the presence of _men_. It was utterly draining. Annabeth wondered how her mother had managed to do it her adult entire life. The entirety of their walk, Luke had insisted on flooding her with compliments and pleasantries, seemingly trying to outdo Percy as the tall Duke simply stared, raising a brow at the overwhelming display.

Percy. That was how she had begun to address him in her mind. Wasn't that just horrendous? _Percy,_ like a mere commoner. As if he were on the same plane as her, as if they were even _close_ to each other. Yes, Annabeth supposed she did have to concede that _technically_ , they were not that far apart in rank. He was even marrying her sister, but—but—but royalty was in her _blood_ , gold ran through her _veins_.

This was ridiculous. _He_ was ridiculous.

And exhausting— _especially_ exhausting.

"Annabeth!" Rachel squealed the second the blonde stepped through the doors.

Annabeth had never found her sister bothersome. She had always had the utmost respect for her. She had even looked up to her as a child, hoping to be as kind and good as Rachel one day. These days, however, Annabeth found herself wincing at the sound of her names spilling excitedly from her lips.

"You simply _must_ look at the gown mother is having made," she said, jumping up and grabbing Annabeth by the wrist. "I have also decided that you should assist me in determining who to invite to the ceremony," Rachel continued, pulling her sister towards her bed. "Dignitaries will obviously be invited, but I believe you the most knowledgable and qualified to ascertain who among our familiars should be welcomed."

"I—I," Annabeth blinked, stunned. She had found herself stunned much more than she was comfortable with as of late. Perhaps she should get more sleep. "Thank you for your faith, but are you certain that mother and father will allow that. They have always been very clear that—"

"I know, I know," Rachel chuckled with a shake of her head. "All that stuff about the union being a political affair, not an affair of the heart, but I what of my wishes?" She peered up at Annabeth with watery eyes, her green irises gleaming in the candlelight.

"I will speak to mother and father," Annabeth assured her sister before any tears could fall. "I shall try my very hardest."

"Thank you," Rachel smiled softly. "I could not have asked for a better sister, Annabeth."

Annabeth's heart hurt at the look in her eyes.

"I know I do not say it nearly enough," Rachel continued, "but I am eternally grateful to you. Surely, I could not have survived this life without you."

"Don't say such things," Annabeth hushed her gently, pulling her sister in for a hug. "You are stronger than you know."

Rachel opened her mouth as if to protest, but one look at her sister and she shut it, smiling reverently at the blonde.

...

Despite the Annabeth's very _very_ transparent attempts to dissuade him otherwise, Luke had held firm on walking her back to her dormitory. She should have known he would not relent when she'd exited her sister's room to find him leaning against a wall beside the door. Still, she had tried— _really_ tried to maintain how very tired she was—to emphasize how he needed to rest for tomorrow—to stress that she needed a moment to think—but nothing. Nothing seemed to work.

So Annabeth found herself divulging from her typical path, taking any possible short cut and canceling her nightly trip to the library in order to avoid spending another second listening to her fiance lavish over her. Was this meant to be charming? She supposed some women might enjoy it— _she_ might have welcomed it just a few days ago, but today was different— _something_ was different, even if she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Annabeth almost sighed in relief when they finally reached her bedroom, but she promptly caught herself.

"Well," she sighed with a what was, surprisingly, a genuine smile, "thank you for a wonderful day, Luke." She pressed her palms to the doors, opening them. She could just barely see her bed. It looked heavenly.

"Every day I spend with you is wonderful, your highness," Luke replied, and Annabeth could help but feel a tick as she recalled her conversation with Percy.

 _Is that why he does not refer to you by your Christian name?_

"Goodnight—" Annabeth sighed, going as far as to fake a yawn.

"May I come in?"

"What?" Annabeth asked, certain she had heard wrong. Surely, _surely_ Luke wasn't asking what she thought he was.

"May I come in?" he repeated, not a single sign of remorse.

"Why?" Annabeth questioned, the curve of her lips quickly becoming strained.

"Annabeth," Luke frowned, a serious glint overtaking his icy blue irises. "I want to talk to you about something serious."

"I'm sorry," Annabeth conceded with a bow of her head, turning to enter her dormitory, Luke trailing behind her.

She heard the doors shut as she made her way across her room towards her bed. She fought the urge to slip off her shoes, knowing it wouldn't be proper.

"Something about you seems—different," he pondered as she took a seat at the edge of her bed, turning towards him, "since we last spoke."

"Nothing has changed," responded plainly, tucking her hands into her lap and staring up at him.

"Hasn't it?" he asked with a smile—but there was something crooked about the expression.

"What do you mean?" Annabeth sought, an unwelcome chill slinking down her spine.

"Well," he began pacing from slowly before her, "Rachel is engaged, soon to be a married woman—"

"She is not married _yet_ ," Annabeth cut in sharply—much more sharply than she should have, she realized as his narrowed eyes shot to meet hers.

"But very soon she will be," he continued with a sigh. "Annabeth, I know how loyal you are to your family. It is always a quality I have much admired. But there comes a time when one must detach from even their strongest familiar ties—not _permanently_ , of course. But now that your sister is engaged, she will become queen and her husband can protect her; your duty here is done."

"What exactly are you suggesting?" Annabeth inquired slowly, the words molasses on her tongue. Every passing day, she felt more useless, but to be told so by someone—someone she was meant to _respect_ —was something else entirely.

"There is no longer anything tying you here, no reason for you to remain."

Annabeth could barely believe her ears. She stared forward, her eyes glazing over as she forced her mouth shut, waiting for him to finish.

"Come back to Andalucia. We could live happily, under your sister's rule we would have sway, would have riches, would have _power_ —"

"Is that why you have returned so soon?" Annabeth interjected suddenly, her gray eyes hard as stone as she turned to face him.

"Among others," Luke replied, his jaw tensing and his fingers twitching at her interruption.

"You have known me for years," Annabeth reasoned. "Since we were just children I have confided in you." He stopped pacing to stand before her, peering down at her with a burning gaze. "You must know—you _must_ —that there is nothing I want less than to relocate to Andalucia, to abandon my sister as such—"

"What exactly is it you want then, Annabeth?" Luke questioned harshly, stepping forward, caging her in where she sat. She raised her chin, determined not to be humbled. "Power?—Riches?—Happiness?—The _Crown_?—We could have it all if you would _simply_ —"

But Annabeth had stopped listening, her nails digging into her palms at his words. A heat erupted in her chest at the mention of wanting—of wanting— _that_.

"Luke," she cut him off pointedly, rising to her feet. "You should go," she recommended, though it came out as more of a command. "We can talk tomorrow."

He blinked slowly, his eyes turning stormy as he stared down at her for a long second before nodded.

"Goodnight, Annabeth," he bid, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. She remained still as his lips brushed her, feeling nothing but the lingering dread of his words resting in the pit of her stomach.

"Goodnight, Luke," she responded politely. Her eyes never left him as he bowed slowly and left the room, his guards following in suit.

As she lay in bed, she couldn't help but consider his words. Yes, she wanted power, she wanted knowledge, she wanted _so_ many things—but she had never mentioned the crown.

Though the thought was certainly appealing, having the world at her fingertips, she would never want anything at the expense of her sister. She thought Luke would have understood that, would have understood _her_.

Annabeth reached for her bedside table, for something to erase the interaction from her memory. Her fingers wrapped themselves around a thin book, feeling the peeling gold leaf that adorned the leather. She already knew what the title was before it had even fallen into her lap.

It was Rachel's romance novel. She flipped through the pages, letting the familiar aroma trickle from the pages to soothe her worries.

What had Rachel always said? Romance was the feeling of fire at the sight of someone, to be engulfed with just a gaze, a touch.

Annabeth recalled the feeling of Luke's lips against her skin. She'd felt—

Nothing.

How unfortunate.

—but it was alright, she supposed. She shouldn't play with love.

Annabeth shut the book resolutely, returning it to her bedside table.

It was only when she shut her eyes, surrounded by the dark expanse of her mand, that she admitted—however quietly—that she was beginning to play with fire—and worse, she was beginning to enjoy it.

* * *

a/n: you know the drill. sorry its short, but ill edit later, also will update fb soon, promise.


	11. Chapter 10

The next few days were filled with regal arrivals and grand introductions as dignitaries from nearby lands tricked into the castle for the engagement banquet. Annabeth had been careful to greet each of them courteously, curtsying low with a warm smile. To her surprise, come the night of the engagement party, she found herself oddly excited. It wasn't that the event that they were celebrating brought her joy—quite the opposite in, fact. Whenever she pictured Rachel and Percy's union, she found herself strangely nauseous. No, Annabeth was excited for a change. She was eager to converse with the people of influence, to hear the variations in perspective, to understand more about the world around her.

Annabeth ran through talking points, reminding herself not to overstep, as her servants readied her for the banquet. The day had finally arrived. She was wearing a long-sleeved jade gown. Annabeth knew the color would have looked much better on Rachel, but was silenced by the tsking of her maids when she began to comment. The front of her hair was pulled back, leaving only a few ringlets to frame her face. Her tiara rested delicately atop her head, glinting softly in the candlelight.

She felt most like herself like this, wearing her tiara, her stature so clearly written in her dress and appearance. It allowed her to move effortlessly through conversation, to navigate the choppy waters of diplomacy with ease. She smiled as she stared at her self in the mirror—perhaps, the color didn't look so bad on her after all.

Annabeth had planned to meet Luke in the hallway leading to the grand ballroom, but she wasn't surprised when exited her room to find him waiting dutifully outside her door.

"You look amazing," he grinned, eyeing her up and down.

She met his eyes with a bemused look, a smile adorning her lips.

There was always something pleasing on the tip of his tongue these days. They had not revisited the subject of their departure to Andalucia since they had spoken of it a few days prior. Annabeth supposed she was grateful. She had no desire to turn him down and potentially upset him—she would _have_ to turn him after all, despite his claims, she _was_ still needed here. Rachel was kind and compassionate and _good_ —but kindness did not make for a good ruler. Annabeth would always be needed as long as Rachel was around.

"Shall I escort you, your Highness?" Duke asked good-humouredly, offering her his arm.

"Of course," Annabeth replied, matching his tone as she took his arm.

The blonde felt her excitement grow as they neared the entrance hall. She could feel the lively music through overflowing through the halls, hear the boisterous conversation as they approached.

The second they stepped through the doors, there was a sweeping hush. Around the room, eyes turned towards Annabeth, the entirety of the company except her parents dipping their heads in respect. She found her smiling mother's eyes across the room and inhaled deeply, painting a sparkling smile across her features.

"Your Grace," Luke greeted enthusiastically as the archbishop of Clemence stepped forward.

...

This first half of the night consisted of exactly what Annabeth had expected. She circled around the room, enthralled in conversation, especially curious about the recent attacks in the North Province. She smiled, ignoring the way shoulder's stiffened when she contributed, overlooking the lavish praises were thrown her way instead of an intelligible argument. It didn't surprise, it was what she had been expecting, after all.

Luke accompanied her for the most part, placating any tense situation with a quick remark and well-placed compliment. They were a good team, she supposed—but she'd always known that hadn't she?

It was somewhere around that midpoint, somewhere between the Duke's roaring in an alcohol dazed force and the prim polite beginnings of the night, that the tenor of the night shifted.

She was dancing, twirling about the room as she always did.

Luke always wanted to dance. He would take her by the arm and tug her—just barely, imperceptibly even—toward the dance floor. His fingers tips would ghost over her waist, kissing at the seams of her gown before clamping down. He would take her opposite hand in his, enveloping his fingers around hers, smiling down at her, the bow of his lips exaggerated. Slowly, deliberately, Annabeth would turn about the ballroom, observing her surroundings, ignoring the biting nature of Luke's gaze. It didn't bother her. It never had.

Her eyes would flicker, catching shapes, colors, faces amidst the twists—when she saw it. It was a frown pressed into Rachel's delicate features.

Annabeth turned again, spun, kicked her feet, counted 1, 2, 3, 4, before glancing back towards her. The expression had passed, but the downward sweep was still imprinted into the curve of her sister's lips.

Had no one noticed? Had no one thought to ask?

Luke put both hands on her waist, his fingers tightening their grip. She met his gaze, placing her hands on his shoulders and straightening, allowing him to lift her. In the air, her eyes couldn't help but scan the room, seeking the person very person who was _supposed_ to have noticed, who should have been taking care of Rachel.

And then she saw him, but his eyes weren't on Rachel, they were on her.

Her breath caught.

He smirked.

Her heart stopped.

Luke lowered her to the ground. She willed herself not to stumble—no, she would not stumble. She _never_ stumbled. Luke drew away from her as other partners did the same. She revolved around him, praying her heart would contain itself.

When the song ended and she and Luke both stepped back to applaud politely, she flicked her eyes back in his direction but he was already gone.

"Excuse me," she muttered to Luke without looking at him, before taking off towards her sister. Swallowing heavily, Annabeth set her shoulders, careful not to let her posture fall as she made her way across the ballroom.

Just as she was about to reach her, she felt a tug on her arm. Annabeth couldn't help the annoyed breath that filled her lungs. "Luke—" she hissed, swiveling on her small heels only to meet an unexpected face.

"Mom?"

"Yes," the queen confirmed, her face a cool facade. "Walk with me," she instructed, drawing back her hands to hold them delicately at her waist.

"Okay," Annabeth inclined with a small nod of her head, mirroring her mother's gesture and following her. They walked to the corner of the ballroom where their words could not be overheard, stopping to warmly receive guests along the way.

Once they were out of earshot, Annabeth waited for her mother to speak but the queen said nothing, instead staring forward, her careful eyes watching the festivities. Her chest rose and fell in unison with Annabeth's, matching her slow deep breaths. It occurred to Annabeth that perhaps her mother had simply called her over in order to divert her, so that she wouldn't involve herself with Rachel—

"Your father and I are leaving."

Annabeth's heart stuttered. She turned towards her mother with wide eyes.

"What do you mean you're _leaving_?"

"Oh, Annabeth," her mother sighed—the sound was a mix of exasperation and resignation. "One day, you will be forced to dispatch those dramatic ideas from your mind." She still wasn't facing her, refusing to change her stance. "Your father and I are simply leaving for a few days to attend to some business in Atlantis."

"What sort of business?" Annabeth questioned, leaning in.

"Royal business," the queen waved her hand nonchalantly, "none of your concern."

"Well," Annabeth scoffed, fighting the urge to cross her arms across her chest. She did not wish to make her distress obvious to all their guests—nor, she supposed, did she aspire to resemble a petulant child. "Considering the fact that I am _royalty,_ I beg to differ—"

"There has been another insurgence incident," the queen said sharply, cutting off the blonde. "Your father and I must travel to demonstrate to the dull population that they are at the forefront of the kingdom's thoughts. Without a firm show of solidarity, we have been advised that the resistance will grow."

Silence fell upon them. Annabeth tongue toyed with her cheek, considering the implications of her mother's words.

"How long will you be gone?" she inquired finally, her voice soft. She had more questions but did not wish to upset her mother—besides, Annabeth was sure she would not receive an answer even if she _did_ prompt them.

"As I said," the queen responded, her lips pressed into a thin colorless line. "It should only be a few days."

Annabeth blinked, noting the way her mother's knuckles whitened at her words.

"Meaning?" she pressed.

"A week," her mother caved. "Perhaps two."

Annabeth nodded, taking a deep breath. "What do you need from me?"

"I am imploring you, Annabeth," her mother ground out, her hands clasping tightly before her, "keep out of trouble and protect your sister. There is _nothing_ more you should find yourself focusing on. And if your mind does wander, consider what occurred the last time you were— _distracted_."

Annabeth stiffened.

"Of course, mother," she agreed, ignoring the metallic tang overcoming her taste buds.

The queen glanced at her daughter just once before stepping away and returning to her husband, leaving Annabeth to consider the consequences of the new information.

Annabeth slowly shuffled towards the long table spread across the far side of the ballroom, careful not to accidentally meet anyone's eyes. She was feeling far from sociable at the moment. Reaching the table, she received a goblet of wine, her fingers grasping the cold metal.

Her parents hadn't left her and Rachel along for years, not since the incident. Her father would travel of course, but her mother always remained, overseeing the nation in his absence. Was Rachel ready for this responsibility? No—it wasn't a question of _if_ she was ready—she would _have_ to be ready. They both knew this would come one day.

Still, Annabeth couldn't help but worry. Was this the best time for her parents to vacate the castle? With a disloyal Duke in their midst. They didn't think him traitorous of court but—

"Would you care to dance, your Highness?"

Annabeth spun around, her eyes meeting his. He had the most uncanny ability to catch while she was distracted.

God, she _loathed_ him. She was sure of it. And yet—

"I couldn't deny my beloved sister's fiance, could I?" she responded primly, pressing her drink to her lips one last time before depositing it behind her.

He appeared unbothered when she stepped forward, leading them both to the center of the room as the musicians prepared for their next piece. She positioned herself opposite of him on the dancefloor, ladies flanking either side of her. She wondered if they too had been coerced into dancing the night away or if she alone found the activity entirely tedious.

He dipped his head as the music began, hiding his expression as he offered her his hand. She stared blankly at it for a second, remembering when he'd touched her on the balcony.

He glanced up at her pause, an inkling of confusion flicking over his irises before disappearing.

The music rose and movement surged around them, breaking Annabeth from her thoughts. She took his hand abruptly, pressing her fingers roughly into his palm.

She wasn't looking, but she was sure she'd seen him grin.

"How have you enjoyed your evening?" Percy questioned as they began to turn around each other.

"Shouldn't I be asking you?" Annabeth returned, her eyes lingering on the lining of his jacket, intent on avoiding his gaze. He seemed to notice. "We are celebrating _your_ engagement, after all?"

The musician's chords softened, languid strokes of violin spilling into the room. They stepped back, joining opposite lines of dancers, mirroring each other movements as they rocked back and forth on their toes. The music mounted, they advanced, their hands lined up, palm to palm, just barely brushing.

"Finally accepted that your sister and I will be united, have you?" Percy challenged, raising a brow.

She shouldn't have looked. She shouldn't have met his eyes. But she did.

He smirked wickedly. His eyes sparkled with mirth.

"I suppose one could say so," Annabeth responded, tight-lipped, struggling to swallow.

His fingers gripped the curve of her waist. She counted— _one, two_ —placing her hands on his shoulders— _three, four._

"Should they?" Percy remarked, lifting her into the air.

It was just a few inches but Annabeth was suddenly peculiarly lightheaded and flustered.

"Excuse me?"

She was _never_ flustered—

She nearly forgot to flutter her heels before he lowered her to the ground, suddenly eternally grateful to her seamstress for the exaggerated length of her gown.

"One certainly _could_ say so," Percy repeated as she turned in his arms, her back to his front, a precise inch of space separating them. "But _should_ they."

It was her turn to grin now, her eyes just barely crinkling at the corners to match the everpresent smile that adorned her lips.

"No," she shook her head, her feet carefully obeying the step, "they shouldn't." The movement was so minuscule, so imperceptible that anyone else would have missed it—but he didn't.

Annabeth stepped forward, away from his as his hands fell from her sides to clasp behind his back. She shifted, facing him again as the music crescendoed.

"I thought so." The words just barely tugging at the corner of his mouth as something flashed in his eyes and—Annabeth thought it might have been pride but—

And then there it was again—that annoying, unfamiliar, dangerous feeling pooling in the pit of Annabeth's stomach—no, just below it—

"What's troubling Rachel?" she asked suddenly, eager to change the pace of the conversation.

He slid to her right, his feet moving deftly across the floor. His fingers grasped gently at her elbow. She waited an obligatory beat before mirroring his action.

"Who is to say anything is troubling her?" he returned lazily, the music quieting as they revolved around each other.

"You may think me foolish, Duke," Annabeth couldn't help but scoff at his insinuation. His eyes widened marginally, amusement washing over his features. "But—at the _very_ least—offer me some degree of faith, for I know my sister."

"She is anxious," he revealed, his head turned slightly so that he might watch her. "What with your parents' departure and all."

Annabeth stiffened, her posture tensing. She relaxed her muscles, injecting them with ease as soon as she registered her reaction, but it was already too late.

"Hadn't you heard," he drawled, his voice far away.

For a moment, something overcame her—something red and hot and fiercely protective inside her springing to life.

He had known. He had known before _she_ had.

This was ridiculous—no this was worse, it was preposterous, outrageous, reprehensible—

"Of course, I had," she snapped sharply, her chest rising as they stilled, following other couples and coming together again. "I was simply surprised they confided in you," Annabeth attempted to cover her shock.

"Of course," he mimicked, his eyes narrowed nonchalantly. "They informed us over breakfast this morning. Pity you did not join us."

It was a challenge. It was always a challenge with him.

"Pity, indeed," Annabeth had barely finished when a voice emerged behind her.

"Duke," Luke greeted, a smile stretched across his face. It didn't meet his eyes. "Might I steal her Highness away?"

She glanced back at Percy, surprised to see something akin to puzzlement in his eyes, but as soon as she witnessed it, it was gone.

"Of course," he nodded, and Annabeth wondered if he were still mocking her. "I know how young lovers are," he gleamed, eyeing them knowingly.

There was silence as he drew away from her. Her blood roared in her ears. He bowed his head, wordlessly stepping away from them.

"And how is that?" Annabeth asked suddenly, ignoring Luke's confused attention.

"Pardon?" Percy questioned, amusement dancing in his eyes as his gaze met hers.

"Young lovers," she clarified, holding her chin high. "How are they?"

He grinned, teeth just barely peeking out from his lips.

" _Reckless_."

* * *

a/n: I know, I know. It's short again, but big things are coming. I promise.


	12. Chapter 11

The King and Queen departed the next evening, apologizing profusely to their guests for delaying the wedding. Annabeth didn't mind, of course. The further down the road her sister's union to Duke Jackson the better.

To her surprise, the days without them passed as usual. Annabeth would take her breakfast in her room before retiring to the library where she spent the majority of her morning before being pestered by Luke to walk amongst the gardens. She protested but always ended up caving, allowing him to take her by the arm and lead her along the path. She would spend the afternoon looking for Rachel and share a few words with her, her mood lightening significantly at her demeanor.

With all the change that had surrounded the castle as of late, the monotony had become strangely comforting. Perhaps that was why Annabeth was hesitant to accept Luke's offer to visit a nearby kingdom. He insisted that the trip would only take an hour, they would be home before dinner. He frequently spoke of the land's beauty, recalling the shimmering Lake, the lively flora and fauna.

It wasn't until the mention of his late father that Annabeth finally agreed to spend the day together.

"We used to sit at the water's edge," he had recalled, his eyes far away as he looked out onto the castle grounds. "He would read to me. I think it was the only place he was ever _truly_ happy, ever free—"

"Then we will go and do the same," Annabeth had assured him, smiling up at him, unable to bear the idea of losing her family as he had. She had instructed her servants to prepare a basket of substances so that they might spend lunch on the banks of the lake. And the next day they were off, the carriage ride felt short with him sitting beside to her.

They still had not spoken about potentially relocating to Andalucia, but their conversations had improved significantly. He seemed intent on spending every second with her, always wanted to see her alone, constantly pulling the blonde away from Rachel and Percy. Although his insistence would have normally annoyed her to no end, she was determined to avoid the Duke and found herself unusually grateful.

Yes, things were better— _definitely_ better. A smile brightening his expression whenever she glanced in his direction. With her parents gone, his presence was more than bearable—it was _enjoyable_.

"What are you reading?" Luke asked her, peering at her from across the blanket she had laid out.

"A collection of stories from the southern nations," Annabeth replied simply, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze. "Shall I read to you?"

He laid back, his back flat against the dark sand below them.

"Why not," he shrugged, and Annabeth thought she heard a bored sigh leave him.

Putting the thought out of her head, she began to read aloud, the soft sounds of water calming her. She was not used to spending so much time away from the castle. It had been years since she had left with no one else. It was pleasant, she decided, _enjoyable_ even. She wondered if living with Luke would really be so bad.

"Do you like it here?" Luke interrupted her reading, seeming to have read her mind.

"I think so," Annabeth nodded slowly, watching as a dragonfly hovered over the water's rippling surface. "It's calmer than I had expected."

"Hm," he hummed, his eyes glued to the passing clouds. "I hoped you would say that."

"Why?" Annabeth questioned, turning to look at his with curious eyes.

The inquire had barely left her mouth when there was a sudden rustling among the brush to her left. Jumping to her feet, Annabeth felt every hair on her body stand straight up. She swallowed harshly, her fingernails digging into the dark leather of her book.

A second later, the guards around them sprung into action, half of them tearing through the surrounding forest, the rest closing in to form a perimeter around the couple.

Annabeth spared Luke a glance, surprised to see him still sitting down. His features were contorted into an expression of concern, his eyes burning with irritation.

When she looked back at the trees, she saw a man—one of her servants, she realized—panting breathlessly, stumbling towards her. The rest of her men around her seemed to relax at the familiar but their swords remained drawn.

"Your Highness," her servant panted, falling to his knees on the brush before her.

"I thought I had instructed that we were not to be disturbed—" Luke began, glaring around at the guards who had allowed the servant passage.

"Hush, Luke," Annabeth cut him off, ignoring his respondent scoff of disdain. "Has something happened?" she sought, eyes piercing into the man. His chest was heaving, his mouth slightly ajar as he attempted to speak. "Sir!" she demanded, stepping towards him.

"Rebels—"

Her heart dropped, the world spinning around her.

"—in the castle—" he revealed, still struggling to breathe.

The number of people she cared about was slowly dwindling, she could not spare to lose another—

"Rachel—" Annabeth began but her servant knew her too well.

"The princess is safe," he assured her.

"Thank god," Annabeth sighed, her posture crumbling in relief. "How?" she demanded suddenly, her knuckles desolate of blood as they tightened their grip. "How did they get in?"

"It is still unknown," he stated roughly, dipping his head as if he knew what was coming. "But it is believed they have a spy in our midst."

Annabeth felt her entire body go still, tension ripping through her.

"Take me back at once," she commanded, ignoring the dark spots that were beginning to cloud her vision. She strode forward, forgetting for a moment that she was in an unprotected forest.

"Annabeth—" Luke called from the ground behind her. He still hadn't stood up. "Don't you think that's a bit of an overreaction—"

She whipped her head around to glare at him, disbelief passing her eyes.

"We shall ready the carriage," one of her guards affirmed, turning but her words halted him before he could take another step.

"No," she rejected harshly, still looking at Luke. She felt her teeth gnash at her bottom lip and tasted blood. "I'll ride."

...

When Annabeth arrived back at the castle, she jumped off her horse, quickly handing the reigns to a nearby guard. She could see guards flanking her on either side as she raced through the familiar halls. The clash of metal on metal echoed through the empty space as they struggled to keep up with her. Annabeth knew the path like the back of her hand, ducking into dark corridors and hidden passages.

She halted only once she had reached her destination, pausing momentarily outside of Rachel's bedroom in order to catch her breath—unnervingly worried at what she might find past the doors. She had been assured that Rachel was fine, that she was not harmed, that she was safe—but what if—

Annabeth smoothed her hair, composing herself before gesturing for the guards to open the door and striding in.

"Annabeth," Rachel called when she saw her sister, rushing towards her and wrapping her in a warm embrace.

"Are you okay?" Annabeth demanded, drawing away from her to scan her features for any indication of harm. She was still holding her sister's

"Yes," Rachel insisted, her eyes shining with unease. Her green eyes flicked down to the severe grip Annabeth still had around her wrists.

"Oh." Annabeth stepped back and released her with a nod, finally taking a moment to observe her surroundings.

There were a dozen guards encompassing the room. The windows were drawn shut, and Percy was tucked into the shadow of Rachel's great canopy bed. Another day Annabeth would have scolded her sister about the impropriety of his presence, but for now, the blonde was simply grateful that she was safe.

"What happened?" Annabeth questioned, trying to keep her voice marginally calm. She looked down at her hands. They were shaking.

"I don't—I don't know," Rachel struggled, her chest heaving against the bodice of her gown, the bottom of which, she noted, was coated in mud.

"What happened?" Annabeth repeated louder, turning to face the guards now.

"Your Highness," the guard nearest to Percy inclined his head. "Her Highness was walking the grounds with his Grace when a crowd of rebels sprung from the castle doors, charging towards them—"

"They originated from within the castle?" Annabeth clarified, her head snapping to meet his gaze. She held her breath, hoping she'd misheard.

"From what we were able to ascertain, your Highness," he affirmed, his eyes dropping to the floor as if in shame.

"And...?" Annabeth pressed with a deep breath, barely internalizing what he had just said. Her mind was moving too quickly, her heart beating too fast. She could barely think. There was someone in the castle—a _traitor_ hiding in her home. "What occurred afterward?"

"Her Highness and his Grace were rushed inside by myself while the rest of my men fought the rebels. The—the rebels were unskilled opponents but they possessed well-crafted weapons."

Annabeth pressed her lips together until they were completely void of color. There were a hundred questions plaguing her mind, but as her oldest guard stood before her—the man that had watched over her since she was an infant, who had begrudgingly taught her combat despite her parents' qualms—she found only one question rising to the forefront of her mind.

"Was anyone hurt?" she asked finally.

"There were a few minor injuries, but no casualties," he explained, a sadness washing over his expression.

"Who?" Annabeth demanded, her voice coming out harsher than she'd meant it. She momentarily registered the way Piper watched her, a mix of confusion and awe in her eyes.

"A few of the guards, your Highness," her guard reveal quickly, _dismissively_.

"Their names?" she urged, surprising even herself with her line of questioning.

Her guard opened his mouth but paused, puzzled.

"Aldwin Haynes, Rowan Ashdown, Mark Lightwood," he informed slowly, each word guttural against his tongue.

Annabeth pressed her lips together, sending him a grateful grimace, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

"Please leave us," she commanded, turning to face her sister as the guards slowly shuffled out of the room. "Jamison," Annabeth called before they reached the door. Her guard swiveled his head, his eye wide, having never heard her call him his family name. "Tell them—Haynes, Ashdown, and Lightwood—that the kingdom is forever endebted to them."

He nodded vigorously before dipping his head reverently and following the rest of the soldiers as they cleared the room.

"We must be cautious," Annabeth told Rachel sternly once they were alone, careful to keep her voice quiet.

She had considered requesting Percy leave too, but she knew Rachel would have opposed her—besides, if he was going to be king, perhaps he ought to shoulder the responsibility of keeping Rachel safe, as she had for so many years.

"There is a traitor among us," Annabeth theorized more to herself than anyone in particular. Rachel gasped loudly, covering her mouth with her hand. The blonde ignored her. "There _must_ be. There is no way rebels could have infiltrated the castle without assistance. What—what are you going to do?" she questioned, eyeing her sister's stunned expression.

"I—Why me?" Rachel stuttered, blinking rapidly. She glanced back at Percy but his eyes were on the blonde.

"Because," Annabeth reasoned with a frustrated sigh, furrowing her brow. "Mother and father are gone. They have left you in charge— _one_ day, this will be your life. So, what are you going to do?"

"I—I don't know." Rachel dropped her chin, staring down at her clasped hands. "I suppose we should clear the castle—eliminate—"

"No." Annabeth shook her head, an immediate need to take action shooting through her spine.

Rachel's head snapped up, shooting her sister a pained look, but the blonde's attention seemed to be elsewhere, her gaze tracing sturdy window frame in front of Rachel's desk.

"What do you propose then?" Rachel snapped, feeling disheartened at her sister's unfamiliar harshness. Her hands tightened around each other, her knuckles whitening.

"A castle wide lockdown," Annabeth determined, her attention seemingly still elsewhere as she examined the room. "No one should leave or enter without _explicit_ permission. Any rebels will have long disappeared, but if there truly _is_ a spy in our midst"—her eyes flashed in Percy's direction for an almost imperceptible second—"then we must find him. Line up the guards, question them. Trust no one. Inquire as to their whereabouts over the last few hours, catalog their backgrounds. I have reason to believe the rebels were likely from Atlantis, but they need not know that—"

"Understood," Rachel nodded, swallowing thickly. "And how would I—"

"Call for an emergency meeting with the council, inform them of your plans—be sure to question them as well, they are not above mal intent. Then gather the castle, including any dignitaries for they too are in danger."

"It's too much—" Rachel protested hesitantly, anxiety tightening her chest. "Will they listen?"

"You will be queen soon," Annabeth asserted firmly. "They will _have_ to listen."

"I—I don't know if I can," Rachel tried futilely, glancing at her fiance for support.

"It's not a question of _if_ , Rachel, it's a question of when. And I suggest you be as prompt as reasonably possible," Annabeth maintained pointedly, crossing her arms across her chest.

"But—"

"Duke?" Annabeth turned to him, addressing him for the first time since she'd entered the room. "Your thoughts?"

"I agree with your sister," he told Rachel, his posture poised as he stepped towards her, his hands clasped behind his back. "But gather the castle prior to calling for a council meeting, they will delay you otherwise."

Annabeth fought a smile.

"Okay," Rachel sighed in defeat.

A loud clanging suddenly erupted from across the room. Annabeth spun around, facing the doors with a defensive stance as her breath caught. She vaguely registered Percy's lean body sliding in front of Rachel's.

The noise intensified.

Annabeth's palm hovered delicately over her the seam of her dress, floating where the fabric met her bare leg—hyperaware that the blade she had hidden beneath the dark mauve fabric was rendered useless if she couldn't reach it.

She watched Percy's hand reach for the sheathed sword draped around his waist.

A grunt echoed somewhere past the doors followed by angry voices—angry _familiar_ voices.

Annabeth frowned.

The doors clattered open and Luke came charging into the room, an angry expression distorting his aristocratic features.

"Annabeth," he huffed, his lips pursed. His eyes flicked to Rachel and Percy standing a few feet behind the blonde but seem to otherwise ignore them. "This is _ridiculous_ —" he seethed, striding towards her.

And suddenly, the days of domestic joys they had shared seemed to pale in comparison to his behavior. Even after everything, he was going to act like—like _this_.

"What _exactly_ is ridiculous?" Annabeth shot back, remarkably embarrassed that her sister was seeing Luke this way. "And I recommend you think very carefully before you answer?"

His jaw clicked. She saw his throat pulse, his eyes lacking his customary easy-going demeanor.

"Ridiculous that I thought my sister's safety more important than our romantic rendezvous?" she flared. "Or ridiculous that you thought it appropriate to address me like this in front of my family?"

He was silent, merely glowering at her. She mused, momentarily, that she had never seen his eyes burn so fiercely.

"Forgive me for _worrying_ ," Luke sneered, though his tone had improved a tenfold. "I just thought I'd return this," he said, holding out the title Annabeth had been reading by the lake.

She took the book from his hands. "We can talk later," Annabeth muttered, her eyes glued to the novel.

He scoffed, breathed, and sighed loudly before exiting, leaving the bedroom doors open behind him. She watched him storm down the castle corridor before glancing down at the book. She frowned, noting there were crescent-shaped holes where her fingernails had dug into the leather.

"Annabeth!" she heard her sister's scandalized gasp behind her. "That was—"

"Spare me," Annabeth snapped, but she regretted the words as quickly as they left her mouth. "I'm—I'm sorry," she apologized with a tired expression. "It has been a chaotic morning."

"It's alright," Rachel replied primly—Annabeth didn't believe her—striding out the doors with Percy in tow. "I have work to do anyway."

...

To say Annabeth was surprised by her sister's lack of initiative was an understatement. If anything, her reaction to the attack had reminded Annabeth why she was still needed, why her duty to her family would never be done.

Of course, she'd felt horrible at the sight of Rachel's dejected face after she had treated her harshly, but as she watched her sister standing before the court, commanding the room, Annabeth knew it was worth it. If firm words would make her sister strong and capable, then she would do just that.

"Why aren't you up there with her?" came a deep voice from behind her. Annabeth shifted her head ever slightly, catching the eye of Duke.

"It's not my place," she answered simply, turning back to gaze up at her sister, pride blooming in her chest. "I am not a queen."

"Neither is she."

Annabeth felt her heart stutter at his choice of words, but she hid her surprise.

"But she will be one day." She glanced back at him, a polite smile gracing her lips. "Besides wouldn't want to distract."

"And because it is easier to scrutinize the masses from this spot, right?" he quipped, raising a brow.

"Of course, I am nothing if not intentional, Duke," she regarded slowly. He was not usually so cordial. She had rather expected a well-placed insult by now. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Of course."

The stood in silence for several minutes, watching from afar as Rachel lectured, an unfamiliar strength in her stance.

"Did you know?" Annabeth asked quietly, not bothering to look at him. He was a skilled liar. It wouldn't have made a difference.

"That you are nothing but intentional?" he clarified, a note of confusion hanging off his last syllable.

"That the rebels were coming," she refined.

Rachel seemed to doubt herself for a second as she stood before her father's throne. Her green eyes desperately seeking out hers. Annabeth offered her an encouraging grin.

"No," he said simply.

"Did the guard tell me the truth?" Annabeth pressed, his tone light and airy as if the subject were nothing more than a pastime. "Did they originate from within the castle?"

"What incentive does he have to lie to his princess?" Percy countered, his lips barely moving as he spoke.

"None, I hope." Annabeth licked her lips, taking a second to focus on her breathing. "But faith is easily swaying during trying times."

"And so you trust me to tell you the truth?" he extended, raising an eyebrow. Annabeth thought she heard amusement in his words.

"I never said that," she replied tightly, hating the now familiar feeling creeping up her bosom.

"Yes," he breathed quietly. "They came from inside the castle."

"Hm," she mused, quite determined to put an end to the conversation as that dreaded heat slithered down her abdomen.

"Your fiance is a bit of a prick," he declared abruptly.

She parted her lips to argue, but paused, the corners of her mouth curling upwards.

"Yes," she decided finally. "He is."

...

Annabeth trusted her sister. She really did. She thought her totally and utterly capable of adequately responding to the attack—but it couldn't hurt to patrol the corridors for any strange occurrences, could it?

No. Annabeth wasn't hurting anyone nor was she disobeying her sister by simply keeping an eye out. In fact, she was sure Rachel would be grateful if she found anything of note.

That was what the blonde continued to tell herself as she strolled the hallways, guards flanking her on either side. So far, she had encountered very little. She didn't mind, however, no matter how boring the evening turned out to be, it would rival discussing her outburst to Luke. She didn't particularly feel that she _needed_ to explain herself—he had had been the one to storm into _her_ conversation, after all—but she knew it would be expected of her. Everyone always expected something of her.

Annabeth heard a crash in one of the guest bedrooms, snapping her from her inner reflections.

"Go," she ordered the guards around who picked up speed, jogging forward to grasp the doors for her. It was only as she reached the large mahogany doors that she realized this was the Duke's room. She swallowed, her hand hovering in the air, holding off her guards, hoping to hear something— _anything_.

Nothing.

With a sigh, Annabeth pushed past the doors, aspiring to _at the very least_ catch him off guard. She was delighted to do just that as his head snapped up to look at her, his eyes narrowed. He was hunched over his desk, a stack of parchment paper before him. There was a quill in his hand and a shattered bottle of ink on the ground.

He was writing a letter, Annabeth realized. She would have to request to examine the mail the next time it left the castle.

"Oh," Annabeth feigned a gasp at the sight of him.

He frowned, annoyance flooding his eyes.

"Pardon me," she shook her head, chuckling sheepishly. "I heard a crash and thought you might have been in peril."

He rose to his feet before addressing her. "Come to save me then, have you, princess?" he returned neutrally but she could hear his venomous undertone.

"I thought I might," Annabeth shrugged, eyeing the open letter still sitting on his desk. It was filled margin to margin with dark, messy writing.

He seemed to notice, rolling his eyes as he snatched the parchment from where it was and folded it in two, tucking it into his jacket pocket.

"Rachel did well," Percy remarked, watching her lazily.

"Excuse me?" Annabeth sought, distracted at the mention of Rachel.

He smiled. Her sister's name having had the intended effect.

"She did well," he reiterated, stepping away from his desk and towards her. "Though I suppose I should rather be crediting you for the thoughtful response—very insightful."

"N—no," Annabeth stuttered, caught aggressively off guard by the compliment. "She executed the plan—"

"Everyone has their own beliefs," he drawled. "I simply choose to believe what I saw. Your response was careful and strategic. I might have even thought it expert had you not been inaccurate in one aspect."

"And what aspect would that be?" Annabeth questioned sharply, unnervingly aware of his every minuscule movement as he crept closer to her.

"You told Rachel that the rebels likely originated in Atlantis," he explained, tilting his head to look at her thoughtfully. "But I know this to be misleading. My advisors have said nothing of any recent uprisings—in fact, they seem to have decreased since I have come to court."

His words pierced through her heart, dread filling her limbs like lead. Her mother had told her they were traveling to Atlantis after an insurgence. Why had she lied?— _h_ _ad_ she lied?—or perhaps Percy was lying—perhaps he was attempting to confuse her—he wanted to throw her off—to distract her from the real danger.

"And where do you suspect they came from then?" she asked, trying to maintain a relaxed front as her fear saturated her veins.

"Now _that_ I could not pretend to know," Percy smiled wickedly with an incline of his head.

She watched him circle around her before sauntering to his bed where he laid back.

"Now please, your Highness," he remarked, pretending to yawn. "As riveting as I find your company, allow me a moment of privacy." He narrowed his eyes, something hostile and intrusive flashing across his bright irises. "I am still very overwhelmed by the events that transpired today."

Annabeth said nothing, simply examining him with disbelief before pivoting to exit.

"And Annabeth," he called as she reached the door. He smirked as she turned, biting hard on her cheek so as to not speak out of turn. "I'll be sure to yell if I need saving."

* * *

a/n: promise there's percabeth coming soon—like 2 or 3 chapters soon? idk, who knows, _definitely_ not me. okay im clearly going crazy in quarantine.

ciao


	13. Chapter 12

_Something has happened. There was an **attack**._

 _It was small, just a meager group of insurgents. It's a miracle they managed to infiltrate the castle in the first place. The security in this castle really_ is _abysmal. I'll have to change that when I'm king._

 _But what's extraordinarily disturbing is that the attack wasn't on ours—wasn't_ **mine**. _The clothing the attackers were wearing was cheap, ordinary—it could have originated anywhere, but their **weapons** —_

 _I shouldn't have allowed myself to get so close—it was **dangerous**._

 _But I had to—I had to understand—and then I saw it, the small embellishment on the handle of a blade as it swung through the air in my direction._

 _My family crest._

 _I did not send the rebels._

 _But **someone** did—they could have hurt the princess—if she'd been injured—if she's died than this would all be over. She mustn't die— **not yet**. I must write to my advisors—surely they will know what to do—how to track this traitor down. What he is doing—what he almost _did— _is_ _interfering with my plan._

 _Someone in this castle is working against my orders. Which is **unacceptable**. They must be dealt with._

 _I should suspect the princess—Annabeth—but I know she would never put her sister in harm's way. And even if I had my doubts, her frantic entrance after the attack was evidence enough of sincerity._

 _Her cheeks were flushed, her bottom lip swollen with worry, her gaze feverish. The sight was surprisingly pleasant—gratifying, even. It might have excited me, had the circumstances been different._

 _But they weren't. There had been an attack—though whether the true motivation was to kill or to instill fear in the kingdom is still unclear._

 _Rachel has spoken to me of envy—envying her sister for her intrepidity, for her **ambition**._

 _I had nodded, told her I understood—but I do not believe I truly knew what she meant until I saw it myself. I watched as they fought and Rachel cowered beneath her strength. Annabeth does not intend to hurt her sister but she must—if she wishes to achieve all that she desires, she **will** hurt Rachel._

 _I wonder if she knows._

 _She does not appear naive—and yet, there is something soft and delicate and wanting behind the cold gray of her eyes. It brings about such an odd feeling—a strange sort of **chaos**._

 _I have always been in control. I have always fought for control—for my family. That's why I was commissioned here—after all—for my family—because of family._

 _But the feeling she inspires, it's a powerful sort of **anarchy** —as if I have no control and yet the entire world at my disposal._

 _I don't understand it—I cannot begin to comprehend how I feel._

 _Which isn't a good thing—especially considering that she has been nothing but a distraction since I arrived at the castle._

 _I see the way her parents look at her. I know how Rachel has spoken of her—with envy, with fear. Even her own fiance disrespects her._

 _She is **alone** —whether she knows it or not. And if she is alone, how difficult would it be to gain her trust?_

 _She would certainly be a formidable enemy—but as an ally? What couldn't I accomplish? Except—_

 _I seem to forget my plans. When they come to fruition she will **loathe** me._

 _Unless—unless she already trusts me by then—but she won't—she doesn't—_

 _God, she glares at me with such spite—it's as if I have_ already _murdered her sister._

 _I wonder if she knows_ — _how_ much _she knows._ _What has she heard?_

 _She contorts her features so expertly, making her expressions nearly impossible to read._

 _I could threaten her— **force** her to tell me—_

 _No—she doesn't seem like the type to break. Besides she would hate me._

 _She already hates me._

 _Yes—_

 _No—_

 _I don't—_

 _I find myself utterly **perplexed**._

 _She remains a distraction—a debilitating one at that, if my train of thought is any indication._

 _My plan would be simpler if I got rid of her—I should get rid of her—_

 _Yes—_

 _ **Fuck** —_

 _No—_

 _I hate her._

 _I absolutely loathe her—and what she's doing to me._

 _I must write to my advisors. I must inform them of the attack. They will want to hear it from me. I must determine where the attackers managed to procure their weapons._

 _I must—_

 _Would it really be so bad to threaten her? She must know something—Rachel only tells me so much. I'm sure she knows more. The skin of her neck is smooth and delicate, if I just held a blade to it—_

 _No—_

 _Yes—_

 _ **Fuck**._

 _P.J._

...

Annabeth knew what she had to do the minute she'd left his room. She cleared her night, dismissing Luke's requests and focusing solely on the castle's new safety protocols. She waited patiently, knowing they were all expected at dinner later that evening.

Then, during those valuable minutes after Percy left to go seek out Rachel but before either of them had arrived in the dining hall—before anyone would question Annabeth's tardiness—she snuck into his room.

His guards put up little resistance. That was to be expected though—they were technically _her_ guards, after all. She padded into the room quietly, careful not to disturb anything. Nothing had changed since her prior visit just a few hours ago.

Annabeth took a deep breath, scanning the room for his desk and inwardly rejoicing when she saw the same stack of parchment from earlier. She was not foolish. She knew that he had taken the letter and most likely disposed of any other traces of his writing, but—

Annabeth skimmed her fingertips over the parchment, praying for something— _anything_ —and then she found it. There, right there, halfway across the paper there was a pattern of indentations. She gentle unfolded the parchment paper she had brought, placing it over the parchment. She bit her lip as she slowly skimmed a bar of charcoal over the top, hoping the imprints were deep enough to hold some memory of what he'd written.

Slowly but surely, words emerged. They were barely there and disjointed—but they were _there_.

With a shaky breath, Annabeth finished her reproduction and stepped back, making sure the parchment didn't have any dark residue. She slowly scanned the pressed paper, only able to make a few words out—

— _rebels—_

— _princess_ —

— _plan_ —

The words sent a sharp stab of fear through Annabeth's chest. She pressed on, attempting to make out any words, but her concentration was suddenly broken by a strange tapping on the window.

She looked up sharply, her eyes widening in surprise as ice filled her veins. It was coming from outside but—but it was only a bird.

Annabeth sighed, pushing past her paranoia. She carefully folded the evidence she'd developed, hiding it in her bosom. She knew she'd already wasted more time than was intelligent, Luke would be waiting for her with questions.

Annabeth rushed back to her room, feeling the cool air wash over as she deftly moved through the castle hallways. She had just arrived back at her dormitory, a strangled sigh of relief escaping her when she noted the lack of her suitor outside, when she heard her name from somewhere behind her.

"Annabeth."

It was Luke.

"One second," she called, glancing in his direction. "Just forgot something."

He frowned but didn't otherwise object as she dashed back into her bedroom. She wiped down her fingers, clearing them of any leftover charcoal, and took the precious parchment out from within her dress. She slid in beneath her mattress, knowing even her mother wouldn't think to look there.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her curls back behind her ears. She slipped on a bracelet, attempting to look somewhat put together. She should have readied herself earlier.

"Ready," she called to Luke through the door as she padded towards it, feigning a sweet smile.

"What did you forget?" he questioned as one of her guards opened the door for her.

"Just my bracelet," she explained, holding up her wrist.

He stared at it, a barely-there crinkle appearing between his brows.

"Oh."

"Mhm," she hummed, taking his arm and following their usual route down the hallway, the hidden vellum lingering in the back of her mind.

...

"I found something," Annabeth began to explain, contorting her face to keep her expression severe, not wanting to show any trace of haughtiness and _told you so_ and _see I was right all along._

"What?" Rachel questioned, eyeing her sister up and down, confused as to why the blonde had been so insistent on speaking to her after dinner.

"I was in Duke Jackson's room earlier," Annabeth told, careful not to call him by his Christian name even if she did so in her mind. "And I—"

"You were in his room?" Rachel repeated, leaning forward with a skeptical brow. "Why?"

"I heard a crash," Annabeth dismissed quickly with a half-hearted wave of her arms. "It's not important. I found something. He was writing something while I was there—a letter I think—"

"And?" Rachel interrupted, quickly growing bored, her jaw clicking into place

"Well, when he finished, I took the parchment that lay beneath it," Annabeth continued. "And I used imprints of his writing to decipher his writing—he writes with an especially strong hand, I've noticed."

"What importance does this have?" Rachel asked, staring at her sister, impatience simmering in her speech.

"His letter spoke of the rebel attack— _moreover_ it said something of a plan," Annabeth expounded with wide glossy eyes. "Given the rebels came from Atlantis, the timing is incredibly suspicious. Don't you agree?"

"It's a little odd, yes," Rachel allowed.

"Well, do you believe we should suspend your engagement—just the ceremony—until we have had the opportunity to investigate further."

Rachel was silent, her tongue sliding visibly across her teeth.

"Does his duplicity not trouble you?" Annabeth demanded, taking a step forward.

"How do you know he was writing a letter?" Rachel countered, her voice cold.

"I—"

"Besides, perhaps he was simply _recalling_ the events to someone back home—"

"Yes," Annabeth accepted with a roll of her eyes, "but—you should have _seen_ the way he snatched the letter away when I tried to read it—"

"You tried to _read_ it?" she Rachel scoffed incredulously.

"Of course."

"You have spoken ill of him for weeks," Rachel sighed, sounding tired. She turned to face the window, crossing her arms. It was dark outside, the stars just barely shining through the clouds. "And yet, he has been nothing but attentive and kind. He has given me no reason to doubt him—"

" _This_ is a reason—besides, this _different_. This is no longer a matter of paranoia. He is a _danger_ to you," Annabeth stressed, stepping forward to reach for her sister's elbow.

Her fingers had just barely brushed Rachel when the redhead turned savagely, snatching her limbs away as she faced her sister.

"Perhaps," Rachel ground out with unfamiliar spite. "You should worry less about _my_ love life and focus more on your own."

Confusion filled the Annabeth's eyes as she stared questioningly at her sister.

"What do you mean?" she disputed, feeling taken aback. In all her years, through all their fights, Rachel had _never_ spoken to her so venomously, had never looked upon her with the malice that shone in her eyes now.

"Luke came to speak with me," Rachel revealed matter of factly after a beat of tense silence.

Annabeth stilled. "Did he?" She asked, raising a brow.

Who the _fuck_ did he think he was? Speaking to her sister without her— _about_ her.

"He says you're distant," Rachel told, keeping a close on her Annabeth as her frustration rapidly bubbled to the surface. "He doubts your feelings."

"That's hardly _my_ problem," Annabeth spat, unable to contain herself any longer. "He is a fool for believing there were ever amorous sentiments to begin with. It's an _arranged marriage_ for god sake—practically a _trade deal_ —"

"Regardless of your sentiments," Rachel cut her off. "You must put an end to his qualms—"

"Yes," Annabeth laughed hollowly, a mocking leer overtaking her features, "because his wounded ego is suddenly my most pressing concern—"

"Annabeth," Rachel gasped, staring at her sister in disbelief. "How can you speak so ill of your fiance? He will love you and you will love him—and you will bear his children—and care for his household—it is the way things are—the way they were _intended_ —"

" _My_ intention," Annabeth snapped, "is to protect my family. I am well aware of what is expected of me—my _current_ concern does not lay with my bothered but rather with my sister who is about to enter into a dangerous marriage—"

"Well then put your concerns aside," Rachel commanded, raising her voice for the first time. " _I_ trust him."

Annabeth was silent, her chest heaving against the bust of her dress, her cheek between her teeth as she attempted to douse the angry flame permeating through her entire body.

"Besides," Piper added quietly, her eyes glued to the ground as she spoke. "I have reason to doubt your claims."

"What reasons?" Annabeth required skeptically, furrowing her brow.

"You have a vested interest in my political downfall—"

Annabeth could hardly contain her gasp, her breath catching uncomfortably in her throat.

"— _Everyone_ knows it. If I were to fall, unmarried, you would become queen."

"How dare you—" Annabeth began, her throat so scratchy she could barely speak.

Everyone could have thought her formidable, faithless, threatening, and she would have survived—except Rachel— _not_ Rachel.

"And that's what you've always wanted isn't it, Annabeth—to be _queen_!"

The blonde struggled to swallow, observing her sister, cataloging her every expression, and wondering if the compassionate girl she had grown up with had disappeared.

"You doubt my sincerity?" Annabeth asked in scarcely more than a whisper.

Rachel said nothing, her eyes still tracing the lines of the floor, as if trying to memorize the ground below them.

"You truly believe I would betray you?" Annabeth questioned faintly, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

"Why wouldn't you?" Rachel shrugged, glancing up at her finally just to shrug. "We both know that women must do what is best for themselves in this world. _Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player—that struts and frets his hour upon the stage_ ," she quoted, sniffing as she drew herself up, fixing her posture.

Annabeth stood, momentarily stunned.

"You dare quote Macbeth to me?" she hissed, having found her voice again. "You think me a devious lady?"

"Annabeth—"

"Or what? A traitorous soldier—"

"Of course, not."

"Then _what_ are you implying?"

"It's a play for god sake, I think you none of those fanciful characters but—" her gaze darkened, something guarded tucked into the shadows of her green irises. "But you know as well as I do that ambitious is dangerous— _especially_ when a woman possesses it—"

"So you fault me for my ambition?" Annabeth attempted, pressing forward.

"No, I doubt you for it," Rachel said sharply. "I _fear_ you because of it."

"You fear me?" Annabeth repeated, something ugly curdling in the pit of her stomach, threatening to boil over. "You fear your own sister? After everything we have gone through, everything we have fought for—you honestly believe I intend to do you harm?"

"These are troubling times," Rachel said sadly, _slowly_. "I don't know what to think anymore."

"I see," Annabeth said slowly, making no attempt to meet Rachel's lowered gaze. "Forgive me."

Annabeth could not escape the room quick enough, a harsh weight pushing down on her chest as she raced out of Rachel's bedroom. She rushed down the hallways, needing something— _anything_ —to take her mind off of her fight.

She was right about him. She _knew_ she was right. And yet—Percy had managed to earn her sister's trust.

Annabeth pressed her teeth together, her jaw going sore from the force of her bite. She shut her eyes, breathing in the cool air as she walked the familiar hallways. She had memorized the route, arriving in the library just a few minutes later.

Annabeth sighed in relief at the familiar smell of old parchment and wood, a familiar warmth lifting her. It was simpler with books. There was no gray area—only truths. She didn't like gray areas—never had. They were too confusing, too complicated. She liked knowing she was correct with absolute certainty.

Annabeth stepped into the great room, pushing her way to the back of the room to locate one of her favorite titles. She had just reached it when she heard something—it was just barely there—a whisper almost—no, _voices._

Her heart raced, her eyes darting around the room. There was no one in sight.

"Stay away from her—"

Annabeth's ears perked up. The hushed murmurs sounded angry. Hidden in the shadow of an alcove, she couldn't see who was speaking.

"The notion becomes a bit difficult as she appears to seek me out at every turn—"

"Do you think yourself sly, Duke?" it was Luke's voice, she realized, low and venomous.

"Somewhat—" replied a somewhat sarcastic voice. Percy.

"You think me foolish then—"

"Hardly—"

"Did you think I would not notice the way you look at her—"

Annabeth inched closer, her heart pounding in her ears as she attempted to listen. She could just scarcely make out the two shadows dancing in the candle light.

"You think we haven't _all_ noticed the way your eyes wander when she's around," Luke's voice scoffed.

Silence permeated the dim room. She breathed shallowed, pressing herself harder against the wall, the adrenaline from her fight with Rachel spurring her on.

"What _exactly_ are you implying?" Percy's voice seethed.

"I am not implying _anything._ I am simply warning you, from one man to another, to stay away from my fiance—"

Annabeth felt her breath catch her throat, choking on the strangled gasp at the edge of her larynx.

"—lest you face the consequences," Luke finished.

"Terrified, I'm sure," Percy's voice returned, sounding annoyed.

She heard the patter of footsteps, watched the two figures part, one moving towards the door before—the clatter of the doors was her only indication that one of them had left. She thought she heard someone breathe raggedly but couldn't be sure

She should check—shouldn't she? It was the responsible thing to do, after all.

Annabeth stepped out from the shadows, her feet moving as quickly as her labored breathes. And then there he was, standing between a pair of bookshelves, half-hidden in the darkness. And he was staring—staring as if he'd known she'd been listening to the whole time. He looked bored—he looked stunned—he looked confused— _she_ was confused—

"Is it true?" the words came tumbling from her lips before she'd even realized she'd said them.

Percy said nothing, simply watched her with guarded eyes.

"Do you follow me?" she clarified—there was nothing wrong with clarifying—"Do you seek me out?"

"Of course," he revealed.

Annabeth felt her heart stop, something noxious and lethal and unnervingly familiar pooling in her stomach—

"I do not trust you," Percy continued. "It is only _natural_ that I maintain a close eye."

"Keep your friends close," Annabeth dismissing the sinking in her chest, "but your enemies closer."

Something adjacent to excitement flashed in his eyes—it was just a second, but she was sure she'd seen it.

"What concern is it to you?" he questioned, taking a step closer to her.

The heat in Annabeth's bosom flared.

"You're engaged to my sister," she replied quickly— _too_ quickly. "Is that not enough of a reason?"

"Is could be," Percy granted, his lips curving into something wicked. "Are you sure there isn't another?"

Her stomach lurched.

He took another step.

She tried back away from him but was met with another bookshelf, suddenly finding herself feeling just as trapped as she'd felt on the balcony.

"I don't know what you mean," Annabeth denied—because there wasn't another reason—there _wasn't._

Another step.

"Really?" he countered with a raised brow and an easy smile.

And she was silent because there _was_ —there _absolutely_ _was_ —it was something deep inside her, something dangerous and dark nipping at her sanity, devouring her restraint.

Her corset was uncomfortably tight and her gown was scratchy against the top of her bare thigh and the bookshelf was digging into her shoulder blades and—and she was dizzy—she was so _dizzy_ —

"Because I think you're _jealous_." The words were sinful as they spilled from his lips—because they _were_ sinful. It was sinful to be—to be—

She was hot—she was burning—she was _melting_.

"Jealous?" she managed faintly, as she resisted the urge to flutter her eyes shut and bask in whatever was rushing through her veins, consuming her from the inside out. "Of you?"

He grinned, the razor edge of his teeth just barely peeking out from his lips.

"Trust me," she breathed, trying and failing to regain her composure. "I can get my sister's attention quite easily."

He furrowed his brow for a second, his eyes narrowing imperceptively.

"No," he uttered, the syllables smooth and lewd on his tongue. "Not jealous of _me_ , jealous of your _sister_."

Annabeth blinked, swallowed.

His eyes lingered on her mouth.

"Pardon?" she choked out.

"Do you like me?" he questioned as simply as if it were arithmetic.

Her heart had stopped beating—she was sure of it. The pounding in her ears must have been from something else because her heart had stopped beating—she had stopped breathing—she had stopped _existing_ —

"You're insane," Annabeth scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest to push him away— _why wasn't she pushing him away_ —

"Am I?" Percy leaned closer.

She could feel his words—visceral and vehement—against her skin. She tried to nod, but wasn't sure she still had control over her own body.

There was an undeniable heat growing in her abdomen, a tension twisting and curling in her stomach.

She felt sick.

"Because from what I recall," he continued. "You follow me everywhere, you always seem to be watching me—you even appeared in my _bedroom_ yesterday—"

"I thought—"

"Yes, I remember," he chuckled, and the sound was gut-wrenching. "Thought you were saving me did you, _princess_?"

She wanted him to say her name—no she didn't—she _didn't_.

"But you also shot an arrow at me, or did you forget?" he tilted his head to the side, sending her a questioning gaze. "Just as I was about to kiss your _precious_ sister."

She made a strangled noise.

"So I'll ask you again, _Annabeth_ —"

Oh god. She was going to be sick. She was sure of it. There was something undeniable—unbearable—building in between her thighs—and she wished she was naive enough to feign ignorance, to pretend she didn't know what it was.

She pressed her thighs together, stifling a shudder at the friction.

"—do you like me?"

She opened her mouth to say something— _anything_ —and watched his eyes, half-hidden by thick lashes, find her mouth again.

Annabeth licked her lips.

He exhaled sharply.

"This is quite improper," Annabeth attempted, pressure building in her every limb, freezing her in place.

"That isn't a no."

Something clattered—a book falling off the shelf behind her.

He stumbled backward. She lurched forward.

And just like that, in less than a second, the connection had been severed.

He stared at the ground, his eyes glazed over as if in a daze.

Annabeth swallowed harshly, allowing herself one ragged breath before shooting him a glare.

"No," she declared determinedly, her teeth tearing at her cheek.

"No?" he repeated, tipping his head just slightly so she was in his eyesight

"No," she contended, taking an angry step towards him. "I don't _like_ you. You're arrogant and tyrannical and suspect—not to mention uncouth." — _and my sister loves you_ lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she knew better, swallowing it back in denial. "I would _never_ be remotely interested in someone like you."

She watched his throat pulse, his muscles strain—before fading into nonchalance no less than a second later.

"My mistake," he said, his voice harsh and guttural and _violent_ —and Annabeth was sure she was going to faint. He drew away from her, leaving the library without another word, taking his heat with him.

* * *

a/n: haven't edited, so be kind. kinda living for some percabeth this quarantine so expect more sooooon.


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